I, Alone
by SleepingSeeker
Summary: A rogue Foot soldier finally acts on a long suffering obsession he has on a certain turtle whom he is convinced is destined to be his soul mate. A dark tale of madness, cruelty, obsession and abuse. Not for the faint of heart. Consider yourself warned. Story and Title Inspired by the song: I, Alone by Live. (see the accompanying picture I drew on deviantart) Rated M for content
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **Just** fair warning. This is gonna be a DARK one. Madness, Obsession, Abuse **and other frightening scenarios will play out. Just in time for Halloween! XD

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**I, Alone**

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**Chapter 1 – Indiscretion**

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The spires of the stone church rose high, so high, he thought if he just reached out, his fingertips could maybe just brush the bottom of the stars. They were so pretty; twinkling in the dark like . . . well, like how stars were supposed to look. It was rare to see them. The haze from the city smog and pollution usually blocked out the nighttime light show; leaving a sky that was yellowed and gray with a black edging dripping in celestial lace: an illusion from the light pollution Donatello had explained to him once. He was always quick to point out what Mikey had thought to be stars in the night sky were actually just airplanes and military jets. But Mikey was sure that these, tonight, were really the real thing. Planes could never be so pretty. Twinkle so brightly.

His breath puffed out in a white cloud, marring his view for a moment. His brothers hated the winter. But Mikey didn't mind. He just hated feeling cold. He loved the snow and the way it made everything seem clean and fresh, at least for a little while. It was pretty and peaceful. The night was crisp and clear; the frigid air burnt his nostrils but he took it in until his chest ached from the chill. Because it was so cold tonight, the stars were able to make an appearance. And Mikey was lucky enough to pick this spot to hide.

He knew coming up to the highest point of the steeple was sure to leave him exposed to Raphael who was hunting him. The last thing he needed was Raph winning hide and seek, again. He'd lost twice in a row already, breaking his long lasting winning streak. It was just so hard to concentrate lately. The winter had him bored to death and he found when he went up top everything was so interesting and tempting. Much more so than during the summer when he could come up whenever he practically wanted.

But it was time to take cover before he was spotted. With a shake, he curled his fingers around the metal grating protecting the historically important building's steeple from errant pigeons and swung his legs over to the sloping roof. The toe of one boot struck the icy surface as he placed his weight on it. He slipped and slid down along the frosted shingles on his rump with wide eyes. His carapace skidded until his legs flew off the edge of the line of gutters. He twisted and managed to grip the icy roof ledge. Jaw clenched in fright, he hung there for a moment, heart pounding with panic; mind a blank of white noise.

"Oh smooth, baby brother," a voice full of mocking laughter rose up to his left.

Panting, he turned his face to see Raphael crouched on the roof. The top half of his body hung over the back and one wing of an angel statue; looking all the world like a ghoul straight out of hell. His scarf snapped in the gusting wind. Crimson like a stream of spurting blood against the inky backdrop of the sky. With coiled grace, Raphael's arms were folded and draped over the angel's bowed head; as if the weight of his thick arms caused the humbled posture. The street lamps below gleamed off his incisors. His amber eyes caught the light, glittering with wicked glee.

"Next time you decide to pick a church roof for your hiding spot, don't make it in the middle of January." His breath puffed out in a gray cloud. "Try the back of a laundry mat or someplace else that has those nice warm vents, Dum-dum. I've been freezin' my ass off watchin' ya play King Kong. Though that little stunt where you nearly killed yourself may have been worth the wait," he chuckled and it was a rough sound. Mikey wondered if his brother had been smoking again.

Michelangelo's arms had started to shake and his fingers were growing numb despite the gloves he wore. He glanced once more at his older brother silently pleading for help. Help that never came. He didn't know what he was expecting. He internally groaned. They were supposed to be independent, he got that. But when someone needed a little help, was that too much to ask for? With a sigh he bunched his muscles and began to haul his dangling lower body back up and scrambled for a handhold as his knee came around. All the while Raphael watched him; a smile plastered on his face; not once offering a bit of assistance. Sweating both from the effort and the near death experience, despite the cold, Mikey scampered in a clumsy manner over the side of the roof to come up next to Raph.

Panting he said, "Geez, Raph. You coulda' helped."

"Where's the fun in that? Besides, you were stupid enough to try 'n hide up here. Figured you could manage to get yourself down."

With that, Raph gave the angel a pat on the back of the head and crouched before dropping across and down to the neighboring apartment's fire escape. Besides the tattered red scarf that April had made for him last year wrapped around his neck, Raph was only in his gear. Mikey rubbed his arms. He didn't know if Raph was so hot-blooded the cold didn't faze him or he was just so much of a hard-ass that he was numb to being able to feel anything at all. Even in his bomber jacket, hat and gloves, he was frozen. He followed Raph down and as he landed on the railing of the fire escape, his boot slipped. His arms pin-wheeled and he let out a yelp of fright as he careened backwards. A hand shot out and roughly grabbed him by the collar.

"Christ, Mikey. Ya tryin' ta kill yourself tonight, or what?"

Raphael pulled him securely to the porch, spinning him around so fast, Mikey fell onto his bottom with a grunt. Mikey's face was flushed with embarrassment as he ducked his head. Slipping in front of Raph twice in one night. He'd never hear the end of this.

"_No_. My boot slipped."

Raphael's bare toes dug into the slushy gray snow that had accumulated on the metal porch. Michelangelo thought they looked a little on the blue shade of the color spectrum.

"That's why I go au natural, little brother." A shrill, sharp whistle cut through the whooshing sound of the billowing gust of frigid air. "Uh, that's Leo." He turned to Mikey who was climbing to his feet, brushing the wet globs of snow off his thighs and bottom while gritting his teeth. "Think you can manage getting down without any help?" he asked, a wry smile on his face.

Mikey bit his tongue, knowing anything he said would only make the tormenting worse.

"Maybe you want me ta hold yer hand going down. Like Master Splinter used ta when you were little," he went on. "Oo, or better yet, how 'bout big brother Raphie give you a piggy back ride down?" Raph sneered as he patted the top of one shoulder.

Michelangelo narrowed his eyes. "Shut up," he snapped. He twisted around to rub some life into his numb thighs from the cold and muttered, "_Asshole_."

"What was that?" Raph, of course, picked up on the muttered insult.

Mikey straightened up. Still feeling angry, he pressed his mouth into a tight line and glowered at his brother.

"That the thanks I get fer savin' your little snot-nosed ass?" his voice dropped low as he stepped closer to Mikey. He balled his fists and brought his face right up to Michelangelo's. Mikey did not break his stare, though his chest had started to heave as his heart galloped. "_Huh_, smart mouth?"

The whistle came again. Insistent and demanding in only the way Leonardo could make non-verbal communication come across. Raph spun around.

He bellowed, "I'm COMING!"

His voice echoed up and down the narrow alleyways and off the surrounding bricks of the neighborhood. Mikey winced and could've sworn he heard the exasperated and weary sigh emitted from his eldest brother all the way up where he stood. The light winked on in the apartment behind him. He jumped and pushed at Raph who quickly spun and started down before the owner's silhouette rose up behind the gauzy, torn curtain.

An old woman's voice in a thick New York accent called out as the window opened, "Someone out there?"

Raphael dropped to the ground without making a sound. With two hands he pulled a bundle of wet snow into a ball and gripped it in his right fist. He huffed and dashed past Donatello who'd just lifted his head from the box clutched in his arms; overflowing with discarded computer hardware along with some odd bits and pieces of metal. As he raced passed he cuffed Donnie upside his head. The mound of snow cupped within exploded all over Donatello's head and face.

Donatello's mouth gaped wide in a silent scream of shock and pain._ "Raph!" _Don hissed; shoulders rigid and hunched. The bottom of his navy overcoat hung wetly near his ankles from walking through the snow.

"Move it or lose it," he called over his shoulder as he cackled at his second oldest brother's distress.

He stooped to scoop more, packing the snow into a tight, large snowball between his thick fingers; admiring the perfect packing quality the day's snow had become. As he stood up, he was met with a hard ball of snow to the face. The fierce impact of it knocked his head back. His heels fumbled across the slick ground and he went down with a loud grunt. Wiping furiously at his eyes with the back of one fist, he snarled and cursed.

Michelangelo burst out laughing from behind. Raphael spun where he lay and scrambled on hands and knees until he launched himself into his younger brother who had just caught up with them. They tumbled through the air as their bodies collided. The laughter choked off from Michelangelo as his breath was knocked from his lungs. They crashed through a pile of garbage cans into the side of a building. Raph reared up where he straddled his younger brother. He punched him once and Mikey blocked with both forearms and a loud growl.

"Ya think that's funny?" Raph bent over and with the side of his hand, scooped up a mound of dirty snow mixed with rotting sludge near the garbage can. He gripped it between his fingers and shoved it into Mikey's mouth and face, rubbing it in with a violent twist of his wrist. "How 'bout this? _Eat it,_ punk!"

Michelangelo struggled frantically as the icy, oily substance was ground into his face. His front teeth stung from the chill. The bitter rank flavor of the melted muck ran through his mouth and over his tongue. He shook his head and punched at Raphael's hulking form. Raph grappled with him until he finally bucked and kicked and managed to throw Raphael off him. Coughing and sputtering, face red from the burning cold he let loose a string of curses that would've made Raphael proud had he not been in such a sour mood.

"You asked for it," Raph ground out with a sullen look and rose up on his elbows.

"I didn't do nothin'!" Mikey screamed; spitting to one side and using his forearms to wipe at his bright red cheeks. His entire face was numb and aching. He gagged and retched. _What the hell was that snow mixed with?_

Donatello walked stiffly past them, kicking droplets of snow and mud in Raphael's direction. Raph blocked with one arm and glared up at Donatello, gray slush dripping off his snout.

"You're waking the whole neighborhood, buffoon." He shook his head and said more to himself than to Raph, "Next time, I'm just going scavenging alone." He looked up the alley where the eldest was marching slowly back towards the grumbling, gagging, sniffling group. The long black jacket snapped in the gusting wind. The hood from his sweatshirt underneath had fallen back revealing a rigid expression. His face was a mask of neutrality, but from where he stood, Don could see his brother's eyes were a darkened storm of anger and frustration.

"You hear that, Leo?" he called out, knowing that more noise would only piss his brother off that much more. But he felt like Leo deserved it after forcing them all to come along to the dump when Donatello could've managed the run alone and with much less trouble than hauling everyone out in the cold.

"I don't care how many Foot soldiers have been hanging around near the dump. I'm going ALONE," his voice boomed. He walked past Leonardo. _"Let's all go out, it'll be good to get some fresh air,"_ Don mumbled in a mockingly high voice meant to imitate their leader, knowing Leo could hear him. The eldest wisely ignored Donatello as he stepped around and continued onward towards the youngest pair.

With glassy eyes full of unshed tears, Michelangelo cast around for his knit hat and found it in a soggy mess of slush. Using his fingers and thumbs he picked it up and looked at it sadly. April had made it for him last year as a gift. He shot Raphael a scowl, which would've been much more effective had his face not been bright red and his body shaking so hard. His jacket was soaked through as well as his gloves. He shook his heavy gloves until they both fell in a loud slap onto the ground. His fingers were numb and tingling. He wouldn't be surprised if he had frostbite.

"Don't gimme that look. You asked for it," Raph snapped.

Mikey balled up the hat and threw it at Raphael's face.

"Dammit! You wanna eat some more?!"

Leonardo's shadow fell over them. "That's _enough_," he growled. The two grew still and mostly quiet with sullen looks being thrown at each other. "Your behavior is unacceptable. We're ninja. Silent. _Remember?_ What would Splinter think of this?" he hissed, eyes dark and serious; penetrating.

Raphael climbed to his feet with a muffled groan of irritation while Michelangelo looked up in shock at Leonardo's tone. Leonardo shot Raphael a glare but Raph didn't meet his furious brother's gaze.

"You can't be mad at me!" Mikey's face darted from Raph, who was looking everywhere except at Leonardo, then back to his oldest brother. "Y-You're the one that hit him with the snowball!" he accused pointing at Raph who was now rubbing the back of his neck and staring at his feet.

Leonardo crossed his arms. The material of the jacket pulled taunt across his muscular arms. "That's not the point. You two have been making a racket since we started back. Ever since you started that childish game of hide and seek, you've been-"

Leonardo stopped speaking. He tensed. His face snapped up. His arms fell to his sides. Raph instantly had his sais out. Mikey blinked where he sat in the frigid snow; staring up at Leonardo; still feeling his heart pound in his chest, still feeling the sting of unfairness at Leonardo's reprimand and lecture.

"Get back to the lair," Leo ordered in an even voice without looking at either one of them.

Raphael's amber eyes scanned the shadowy ledges of the surrounding buildings. Straining to see what Leo had noticed. His ears tuned sharply for any sound giving away the threat. All his senses, searching for what had his brother on edge; seeing and hearing nothing. He didn't know how Leo did it. But he was never wrong.

He asked without taking his eyes off the skyline, "What is it, Leo? Foot?"

Coldly, Leo snapped, "I said _go_!" With that he dashed off into the darkness, disappearing into it as smoothly as a drop of rain being engulfed into the sea. Even his footprints from the boots on his feet seemed to melt and recede into the surrounding environment.

Mikey stood up, still shaking, worry etching lines around his eyes. "Wha . . .?"

Raph took two steps forward, as if to follow their leader.

"Hey! Raph, he said to-"

"Yeah, yeah, blah, blah. Get yer ass home." Raph peered over his shoulder. "And be careful." He ran forward and barreled into the darkness, making the surrounding shadows recoil before swallowing his form completely.

"You, too," Mikey whispered.

He stood there for another moment. Alone and in the dark. Shivering. He felt a mix of worry and relief. He stooped and grabbed his wet belongings with a grimace. He shook them out and heavy blobs of slush fell to the ground making funny sounds that he quietly mimicked with his mouth as he moved towards the direction Don had gone off in. Just behind him he thought he heard another soft thud. Like a larger pile of snow falling from a fire escape. Blinking, he glanced over his shoulder.

The movement was met with the blunt end of a katana. It struck the side of his head. A flash of bright pain erupted across his vision as his knees buckled. He pitched forward, dropping his wet outerwear as he grabbed at his temple with a yelp. He didn't have time to cry out again as another blow slammed into the back of his head. His body jumped from the violent impact once and then he laid still in the snow.

"It's alright. It's alright," a low voice repeated frantically as a figure dressed in black crouched next to him. A shaking hand flitted over Michelangelo's body before finally coming to rest on his shoulder. Gently, Michelangelo's unconscious form was rolled to his back. His head lulled to one side and his mouth hung open. A purple bruise was starting to bloom along his left temple above the rim of his orange mask. The trembling hand moved from his shoulder to the side of his face; where it caressed Michelangelo's cheek. "I'm _sorry_," the man's voice was now light and strained with remorse.

He made a choked sound as he reached under the mutant's shoulders and grasped him beneath his armpits. Looking around quickly, he scrambled; feet slipping in the slush; as he pulled and dragged Michelangelo into the looming shadows where they were embraced and consumed entirely by the awaiting darkness.

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**A/N: **Okay, so I had to get this out here. I am finishing up Scar Tissue and will be working on Tender Trap part 3, but this little evil plot bunny would not let me rest until I at least got it started.

Hang on, Mikey fans, it's gonna be a hell of a ride. Don't forget to leave me encouragement in the form of reviews, questions, comments, rants, opinions, suggestions (especially for music!)


	2. Of Destiny, Games and Temptation

**A/N:** Ready for more? Hang on my dear readers...

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**Chapter 2 – Of Destiny, Games and Temptation**

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His head rocked with a steady rhythm. His cheek bouncing lightly against the carpeted floor. His sticking eyelids rose only to fall after reaching halfway open. Still his head bopped along with the rhythm of what sounded like the rushing sound of a washing machine or traffic. It would have been soothing had he not become aware of a throbbing ache followed by an intermittent sharp pang in the side of his head. Eyes closed, he grimaced. Why did his head hurt so much?

The air smelled of motor oil and rubber and wet wood. It reminded him of the garage in the lair. Wait a minute. Where was he? His eyes cracked open again and he found himself laying on his stomach, surrounded by darkness. The sound of something whooshing made the room vibrate and bounce. He wondered if he were inside a closet in their garage back home.

"Ah . . ." he started and gagged.

Eyes watering, he frowned. There was something in his mouth? Something was stretching his mouth open in an unpleasant and unnatural way, he realized with a shock. He moved to close his mouth, that is, he tried to. But his tongue pushed against something large and rigid wedged inside. It was smooth and tasted like wood. _What the heck?_ His jaw worked and his tongue strained against the object. His lips were dry and sore. He gagged. Breathing slowly through his nose he wondered if Raphael was pranking him. For a second, Mikey's mouth curled up into a smile. He would have to get his brother back big time for this. Because not only was this uncomfortable, it was stupid.

He gave his throbbing head a slight shake. Raphael had no talent for pranks. He always took things way too far or just went for violence. He lacked finesse. Mikey moved his hand to remove what was stuck in his mouth. His right arm moved a fraction of an inch before he felt a cord tighten around his throat abruptly ending his movement.

He froze. His eyes snapped open and darted around; searching the inky darkness, seeing nothing but a vague outline of an interior ceiling that was much too low for him to be in a closet. He realized with a thrill of fear that he was not in a closet. He was not at the lair. The bouncing vibration he was feeling could only mean one thing. He was in the trunk of a vehicle.

Fright made his stomach clench and roll. His body blazed with awful awareness. With a grunt, he shifted his shoulders; trying to pull his arms free; trying to gain some kind of leverage to sit up. As he shifted, the cord tightened again cutting off his air. He clenched his eyes closed. Forcing his arms to relax, the cord loosened enough for him to wheeze and pull air into his straining lungs. This was no prank. He was in trouble.

_Stay calm. Stay calm._

The memory of standing in the alley, in the cold, as his brother raced after Leonardo came to him. Someone had hit him in the head just as he'd turned around.

_Oh god. Oh no. _

Heart pounding, he assessed the situation and where and how his body was bound. There was a piece of wood crammed into his mouth and secured by some type of rope that bit into the sides of his cheeks and squeezed the back of his aching head where he could feel the knot. His aching arms were pressed securely to his sides. The rough edge of his shell was indented into the flesh of his forearms. His hands, numb with tingling fingers, were bent up and back towards the bottom of his carapace. His heart raced as he struggled against the binds around his wrists. Twisting his hands and yanking. It only served to tighten the cord around his neck. He gave up on his hands as he choked.

Panic stampeded through him; making his pulse race. Trying to stay calm, Mikey labored to move his legs, sensing his thighs rubbing against the rough carpeting beneath him. But as he attempted to straighten his legs, he felt his arms pull painfully down and back and the cord around his neck grew taunt once again. He was hogtied.

He felt a renewed wash of panic flow over him as his blood ran cold with terror. He had to get free. He rocked side to side but found the bind around this throat getting tighter, if he wasn't smart about this he would strangle himself to death before he even knew where he was. Forcing himself to fall still, he panted through his teeth. He rested his cheek against the floor of the trunk and closed his eyes. He had to calm down. He had to think. But his head hurt and he just wanted to be home right now. A feeling of sharp homesickness made him tremble. He moaned softly in the darkness.

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Leonardo bled into the darkness, emerging finally out on the roof of an apartment building where he knew she prowled. Feline and lithe, she slid from the shadows. Her long legs moved her effortlessly in a semicircle around him. Circling him. Stalking him. Her attempts at intimidation were weak and laughable. He didn't even draw his swords. His fingerless gloved hands rested with easy care at his sides.

"What are you doing following us, Karai?" he asked with a flat voice. The end of his coat whipped and snapped in the frigid air.

She was wearing a hooded cape that fell to her ankles with slits for her arms to move freely. The fabric was heavy and absorbed the light. Her hands were clad in elbow-length, black leather gloves. Silver studs lined the outside of her arms. They gleamed as she moved.

"I didn't know you owned this part of the city," she replied in a voice like silk and straightened slightly. She twisted and lifted her hand; closing her fingers into a fist. From an outsider's perspective, it appeared she was signaling the empty air around and behind her, but Leonardo caught the line of black fabric as it reflected the yellow street lamps below. The glint of a curved sword. The barest sound of bodies retreating into the alley below reached his sensitive ears. She turned back to him and crossed her arms. "I called off _my_ dogs."

Leonardo stared steadily at her; unsure of the inflection in her voice.

She cocked an eyebrow at him. Then gave her head a slight shake. The heavy fringe of bangs swept back and forth just brushing her finely shaped brows. "Won't you return the favor?"

As Leo's forehead crushed into a soft frown, a bulky shape erupted from his left. He gasped as Raphael rushed Karai.

"Gotcha!"

Karai stooped and dropped into a sideways roll just as Raphael nearly barreled into her. The snow crunched beneath her and stuck to the fabric of her cape. As she came up, her short sword was in her hand.

"Playing dirty, Leonardo?" she called. "This isn't like you –" A sai came at her face, cutting off whatever else she went to say and she blocked with her blade. The weapons screeched as they skidded across each other. She pushed his hand aside with a grunt.

_"Raph!"_ he barked. "I told you to get home!"

Raphael ignored his leader and lunged at Karai again, swiping his sais and jabbing; alternating fists as he came at her; snarling. His tattered scarf snapped at the wind like a viper striking an invisible foe.

"Thought you'd get the drop on us, huh, _bitch_?"

She glared at the rude name. His returning grin was wide and wicked. The points of his gritted incisors gleamed in the darkness. His eyes were narrowed strips. But despite that, Karai thought she could make out the bloodlust there in his pinpricks of his pupils. At least, she hoped it was bloodlust and not the other kind. She risked a fleeting glance at Leonardo. How much did he see?

Her heart fluttered in fear and a thrill of primal excitement. She felt her lips curl up into a smile before she stopped herself and forced her face into a blank mask. _What is my problem,_ she thought, disturbed. She had to be careful. Couldn't risk being careless with her expressions and reactions here. This wasn't a simple kid's game she was playing at. Then again, that's all life really was, wasn't it? You could play the game or be played. And Karai would never be a pawn. Not willingly, at least. Not as long as she could help it. Her father may have plans for her; pushing her into a life she never wanted; trapping her in a corner filled with despair and desperation . . . but that was before she'd met Leonardo . . . and his brother. Here, at least, she could maneuver. She could breathe. She could play. And as long as she could play, she had reason to go on.

Her hood fell back as she dodged another swing of Raphael's sai. He was getting awfully close. Involuntarily, she swallowed; doing her best to keep a mask of disinterest on her face as her eyes continued to hazard fleeting glances towards Leonardo, gauging his reaction to his brother's attack. As usual, his face was nearly unreadable. He mostly looked pissed. She huffed, blocking another blow aimed at her midsection. She growled in irritation.

Karai slid her boots through the snow, dodging with measured care, trying all the while to seem uninterested and bored. Her breath was becoming unsteady as it puffed in little clouds in front of her face. She couldn't let this one see her intimidated. He'd love that. She couldn't show her fear . . . she glanced again at Leonardo who was approaching . . . or any other errant feelings that decided to crop up. She couldn't let her guard down. Not for an instant. Most of all, she had to keep their secret, at all costs. Or the game would be over. In the worst way.

She turned her head to say something taunting to Leonardo, a wry smile on her mouth until Raphael spun and threw a kick at her face that connected. Leonardo's gasp carried over the sharp crack of Karai's neck and her soft, surprised cry as she fell backwards into the slushy snow; sliding back until her shoulders struck the roof access shed. Raphael wasted no time and pounced on top of her; knocking any remaining breath from her abdomen. His thick legs straddled her, over her hips. One hand braced against her chest, between her breasts. Her face reddened, but if he noticed, he didn't show it. Her control on the situation was slipping as incredulity made her stomach clench and drop. He reared back with his fist, the blunt end of his sai posed to connect.

"_Raphael_," she breathed and trembled, bracing for the impact.

The carefully constructed walls dropped away and fear and disbelief raced across her features. He hesitated for a fraction of a second. She saw him catch himself as regret flashed through his bright glassy eyes. He blinked and she saw his throat work. He started to drop his fist when Leonardo tackled him. The brothers fell in a tumbling mass of arms and legs, black fabric and tattered red shreds.

Dazed, and more than a little relieved, Karai rose up on her elbows. He watched the two wrestle and fight. A string of curses filled the air that made her brows raise. Their rough voices carried and she couldn't tell where one brother began and the other ended. Shaken, she rose to her feet and backed into the awaiting safety of the shadows. Her fingers gently pressed at her swelling bottom lip. She couldn't trust herself to stay for the aftermath.

Wiping at the moisture on her cheeks she spun and raced across the roof top. Not for the first time, she felt more than a little overwhelmed and out of her depth. Anger speared her and she pushed the weak thoughts away. She could handle it. She swallowed and the coppery blood soured her stomach.

Unable to stop herself, she glanced over her shoulder at the brothers as she paused in her retreat. Hurt lanced her heart. For Raphael's violence with her as well as Leonardo's hesitation in stopping his brother's attack. What did she expect from the two of them? She knew exactly what she was getting into at the start of this dangerous game she chose to play. She spun around, heel digging into the slush; internally cursing herself for being weak once again. She steeled herself and vaulted over the ledge of the building down to the fire escape below.

_"I'm in control,"_ she whispered fiercely to herself.

Tears stung her eyes. Vaguely, she wondered if the game she was in the middle of would end with her death and two very indifferent brothers.

* * *

Music flooded into the dark; making him jump in fright. His eyes darted around. The melody blared all around him, vibrating his shell and stomach. Involuntarily, he listened to the lyrics and frowned. The song was old. More than that, it was an oldie. He knew this song. Bobbie Darin's sweet vocals boomed around him . . .

_'Dream lover until then _

_I'll go to sleep and dream again_

_That's the only thing to do , til all my lovers dreams come true…_

_Cause I want (yeah-yeah, yeah) _

_a girl (yeah-yeah, yeah) _

_to call (yeah-yeah, yeah) _

_my own (yeah yeah)'_

The music ended abruptly as the vehicle came to a rough stop. Mikey felt his body jolt and the cord tightened around his throat. His eyes watered as he choked and gagged around the wooden plank in his mouth. His heart hammered against his chest, pounding into the thin carpet beneath him. The car bounced and he heard the door creak open and slam shut. The jingling sound of keys was followed by a clink sound and a groan as the trunk was opened. Light flooded over his face and Mikey cringed back, blinking.

The silhouette of a man stood before him, shining a flashlight right into his watering eyes; blinding him initially. Mikey's eyes darted away from the blazing light and focused on the man's body. He realized without too much surprise that he was wearing a Foot uniform. This was it. He was caught. It was only a matter of time before one of them were captured. He was sure that he'd be brought into the Foot headquarters to be thrown before the mercy of their arch enemy, the Shredder.

He tried not to think of the many threats that the Shredder had made about what he'd do to them if he'd ever caught them. Thinking like that would only add to his panic. So he pushed those frightful memories away and instead thought of his brothers. He knew they'd find him. He only hoped that Donatello and his brothers would figure out what had happened to him before Shredder decided to shower him with his brand of mercy.

"You're awake?" a voice, soft and gentle, reached him.

For a moment, he braced himself with the thought that perhaps he'd been lucky with his captor. Maybe he'd ended up in the hands of someone with a little sense of empathy or kindness.

"Mhk," he attempted, meaning to say,_ I'm choking to death over here, dude. A little help?_

The soldier set the flashlight to one side, the light illuminated Mikey's thigh. He moved his hands to the knots at the back of his carapace. Mikey closed his eyes in relief as he felt the cord around his neck ease. He panted over the wood in his mouth. Then he felt his legs being fumbled with and then slowly unbent. His calves were a tingling fire of pins and needles. He grimaced but suddenly a thrilling thought struck him. Was this guy untying him completely? Mikey's eyes darted to the side as the man was doing something with his numb ankles. Nice or not, this guy was in the Foot and Mikey was smart enough to take an opportunity that fate offered up without a second guess. It was now or never!

Legs free, Michelangelo twisted his hips so that his knees folded under him, toes braced back. The man grabbed at him, figuring out what was happening, but too late. He stumbled as Mikey lunged up and out of the trunk right at the soldier's torso with a grunt. Barreling into the man, Michelangelo rolled head over heels in a somersault over the man's body and onto the gravelly ground. He came up onto his knees. He gathered his senses with a sharp shake of his head and hopped up onto his feet. He moved to run, but as he stepped forward his ankle snapped the rope taunt between his legs and he only managed to fall forward. Hands still secured at his sides and shell, he could do nothing to brace his fall and ended up slamming fully into the rough ground below. His teeth dug into the wood as his jaw was jarred from the impact. He groaned and rolled his head to one side. The soldier was standing over him.

His voice was even and calm, a teacher disappointed by a student not paying attention but is willing to be patient, anyway. "This is no way to behave. I was excited when I saw you were awake." He placed one hand on his hips and sighed. He slowly pulled something long and rigid from the side of his belt. Michelangelo strained to see what it was. "I thought _you_ would understand. I want this to be easy."

The man dropped his head and Mikey could just make out that he was shaking it side to side in a sad way. Mikey's mind raced. If the guy came any closer he'd fight him, bound or not. He'd knock him out and then get to cover before the soldier's buddies showed up to escort him to Shredder. _Good plan. Solid plan._ He just had to figure out _how_ he'd do that with his arms and legs tied together.

"But you had to attack me. Didn't you? They want you to think we're enemies."

Michelangelo's brows came together at the odd statement. What was this guy talking about?

"We're going to be friends. All true relationships, the ones that are meant to last start that way. But I'm sure you know that, Michelangelo."

He couldn't help but feel a shiver run up his spine as the soldier said his name. That he knew it wasn't so much a surprise. The Foot Clan had plenty of intel on him and his brothers. It was the _way_ he said it. There was an intimacy to it that unnerved the young mutant. The man crouched and Michelangelo shifted his upper body and moved to roll away when he was caught by one shoulder. His knees came up and he braced his feet on the man's chest, pushing him back. The soldier grabbed his ankles, stopping his backwards momentum.

"Grrrr . . . _mmphk hk hgk gahk!_" he tried to growl but only choked on the wooden gag.

The man grappled with his legs. Mikey kicked and bucked as his head and shoulders dug into the rocky soil under him. His hands were being crushed beneath him from his desperate effort to fight. He ignored the pain as it streaked up into his elbows. He couldn't be taken again; not when he was so close to getting away. He may be the youngest of his family, but that didn't mean he was helpless. No matter what Raph or Leo thought. He'd show them and this jerk. He wouldn't go down so easy. He'd make this guy sorry he picked him to capture. Sweat was running down his head, burning his eyes. It was hard to breathe with the gag in his mouth.

His chest was heaving and he flinched as the man's fist struck him in one of his knees. He whimpered and his leg shook from exertion and pain. No! He had to escape! This might be his only best chance to make a break for it. Mikey, eyes in panicked circles, struggled to twist and kick the man in the face.

The soldier's voice rose to a strained, worried pitch as he blocked the assault. "Stop it! You mustn't struggle like this!"

He felt the hands release his legs. He twisted to his side with the intention to scramble away on his knees when something cool prodded the side of his neck, just under his jawline. The end of something metal and jagged. Mikey froze as a scent of something like ozone hit his sensitive nostrils. His eyes widened. His mind screamed, _Wait!_

_"Mmpf!" _

Then his body was wracked with explosive, electric pain. Bright white waves of sharp agony blinded him as his body jumped and contracted until he collapsed onto the ground, writhing and seizing. Foam filled the space in his mouth and dripped from his dry cracked lips. He whimpered shrilly as his chest squeezed all the air from his lungs in a long wheeze and his heart slammed too fast within him. The terrible pain seemed to go on forever until finally, the world went black and he felt nothing at all.

Panting, the soldier fell on top of Michelangelo's twitching, but unconscious body. He dropped the modified cattle prod into the gravel and wrapped his arms around Mikey's torso.

"I told you to stop!" he cried.

He rose up on his knees and pulled back one fist. He struck Mikey's face again and again until the wooden gag cracked and crimson blood flooded the spaces between the turtle's mouth and the gag. It ran down and over his cheek in a steady flow. Each ragged breath the mutant took, the blood gurgled in tiny, foaming bubbles. The man rested his head on Michelangelo's chest. He pressed his ear into his plastron and listened to the fluttering heart beating within. The sound soothed him. His shoulders shook as he allowed tears of regret to fall, but after a moment, he composed himself.

"You should've stopped," he mumbled in a petulant voice, prying with one finger into the grove of Michelangelo's chest plate. He sat up and examined his prize. A bolt of lust rushed through him. He imagined turning the turtle over and taking him there, right in the gravel, right in the open, where anyone could see. The temptation made the soldier quake. His hands trembled at his sides. His hungry eyes roved over the unconscious mutant, from his firm legs and strangely alluring plastron, up over his wide chest and throat. There he paused.

Michelangelo had a thin mark running around his throat from the earlier restraints. The man grimaced. He didn't like how that looked. It was ugly. He reached down and with his thumb he smeared the line of blood across Mikey's bottom, swollen lip. Back and forth, back and forth. The soldier felt himself warm with the action. Again he was tempted to give in to his lust. He slowly titled Michelangelo's face to one side. His left cheek was puffy and darkened. The feeling faded to a dull ache.

"Tch, dammit. Look what you've made me do to you." He looked away, disgusted. Then glanced sideways at him, "Aw, our first fight," he said with wistful longing and pulled his thumb against Michelangelo's bottom lip before releasing it.

He stood up and dusted himself off. There would be plenty of time for giving into lustful feelings. Once the two of them were settled. Then they'd have all the time in the world to explore one another. As his eyes roved over Michelangelo's prone body once again; taking in the fine lines and curves of his limbs and muscles, a smirk danced along his mouth but quickly fell away. What was he thinking? If he was caught it would be all over. For both of them. The Shredder, or worst yet, that little minx, Karai, would never understand the situation. Panic flooded his heart. He twisted to check if anyone had seen or heard anything, but knew that there was no way. He closed his eyes and grinned. He was being silly. The Victorian style home looming up the long driveway was dark. There were no soldiers stationed here and there wouldn't be. Not for a while at least.

This property was used solely as a reconnaissance spot for its proximity to the docks as well as the isolation. The property consisted of an acre and a half with the furthest portion of the outskirts of the property bordering the far end of a large, mostly neglected, cemetery. There was an entire division of Foot soldier who scoped out properties like this to acquire for such purposes to serve the needs of the clan. One of his fine companions had clued him into this particular spot. Even a year ago, as his careful planning was just started to take shape, he knew this was the perfect place where he and his soul mate would consummate their destiny.

Content that they were indeed alone, he calmed himself. He went to the task of dragging Michelangelo's body up to back of the house. To the storm cellar's hatch in the rear yard. He crouched and gripped both of the turtle's ankles and began pulling on him as he walked backwards. The blood pooling along the back of Michelangelo's throat from his mouth streaked in a thin, uneven line as he was dragged down the stony path.

* * *

**A/N:** Reviews make me happy. And excited to write more. XD Tell me everything!


	3. Sweet Like Candy

**A/N:** Getting in the mood for these chapters has been . . . interesting. I have discovered a very dark lyrical band by the name of Alt-J. You can blame them for the creepy sexiness that you'll find in the next two chapters.

* * *

_"She may contain the urge to run away, but hold her down with soggy clothes _

_and breezeblocks._

_Muscle to muscle and toe to toe -_

_The fear has gripped me but here I go._

_My heart sinks as I jump up._

_Your hand grips hand as my eyes shut." –Breezeblocks, Alt-J_

* * *

**Chapter 3 – Sweet Like Candy**

* * *

"Get the hell offa me," Raphael snarled and punched Leonardo in the face.

Leo swung his head to one side but the blow clipped his jaw, rattling his teeth. Stars flashed before his vision, but he quickly brushed the pain away as Raph swung at his face again. He lurched back and brought his elbow down in a swift jab to his brother's throat. Raphael bucked beneath him and Leonardo scrambled off just as he turned onto his side, clutching his throat and choking.

Panting, Leonardo looked around the roof. His shoulders slumped as he realized that Karai was gone. He didn't even have a chance to talk to her. _Dammit_. Raph just _had_ to interfere. Always sticking his big snout where it didn't belong. His infuriated gaze turned to his brother who was recovering from the jab by giving him a rude gesture with his finger. Leo narrowed his eyes.

"The next time I tell you to go home. Do it," he growled.

Raphael knelt in the snow. The pads on his knees were soaked through. He shivered as an icy breeze chilled his sweat-drenched exposed skin. He braced his hands on his splayed thighs. The crimson scarf hung limp over one shoulder. He threw the end of it over to his back. Voice rough, he barked out a hoarse laugh in Leonardo's direction, then climbed to his feet, dusting the clumps of snow from his body.

"That the thanks I get from savin' you from super ninja bitch, huh? Or . . ." he tilted his head and considered Leonardo as he stood breathing heavy and looking furious, "maybe there's another reason you're so pissed at me."

Leo said nothing. His breath puffed out in a bluish white cloud before his face. His stare frigid and harsh like the air surrounding them.

* * *

The last time he'd seen Karai alone had been two weeks ago. They had met at the edge of a neglected park not far from the train yards. She was seated on a swing and as he approached she smiled sweetly at him and asked for a push. The expression made warmth spread through him.

"What?" he asked as he emerged from the shadows.

She had left a message for him on the bridge saying she needed to see him. Something about feeling bored and wanting to talk. It was an odd message that made him feel a surge of mixed emotions. And like a love-sick fool that he denied vehemently to himself that he was, he showed up; had been counting the days until they were to meet.

She was smiling at him. A smile full of warmth and genuine happiness to see him, it seemed. He felt his heart quicken and internally cursed himself for being foolish.

"Give me a push. To get me started."

With hesitant steps he came closer, casting furtive glances around for both civilians and hidden soldiers waiting to pounce on him. But it seemed that they were alone. The air was fresh and cool. There was a threat of snow in the heavy black clumps of clouds that took turns blotting out the full moon only to slid away and leave the world below illuminated in its soft blue light. He stood behind her, unsure and awkward. She turned to look up at him, green eyes catching the moonlight and sparkling. He felt his heart stumble, though his face remained a neutral mask.

"What are you waiting for?"

He reached out and grabbed the chain, bringing it back and roughly shoving it forward. She swayed side to side and laughed at his poor attempt at such a simple task; wobbling. It was the first time he'd ever even touched a swing set. He felt the back of his neck heat up. Part of him wanted to turn around and leave in that moment. His pride bruised by her teasing. But instead of leaving, he reached out as her back came up to him and he pressed his hand into the center of her back, squared his feet and with the grace of the ninja master that he was, gave her an elegant and much smoother push.

Her feet went flying as the swing moved to the full arc. A shout of delight broke from her lips before she could stop herself. From the corner of her eye, she caught him running underneath her legs to stand in front of her. His long black coat snapped in the frigid air. He stood there; hands on his hips in triumph. A wide smile on his face at her joyful response to his push. As the swing reached its full backward tilt and started forward, her eyes widened. She couldn't stop the forward momentum of the swing. She was going to plow into him or knock him over if he didn't move.

"Oh! Leonardo!" she cried as her feet came at his head.

In an attempt at sparing them both the collision, she released the chains and soared off the wooden seat. She felt his strong hands catch her as she sailed over his head; maneuvering his hands and legs to brace against her weight; spinning her body around until she found herself sliding in front of him. The length of her body dragged down against the front of his. She felt the rippling muscles beneath the plastron that covered his body as her softness pressed into his firm build. The toes of her boots touched down; his hands on her waist, holding her close to him, firmly. She could feel the hammering of his heart and it matched the pace of her own.

Out of breath, she tried to laugh at the entire situation, but found the intense look in his stormy eyes had stolen any remaining breath away from her. For as long as she had known them, the side of her nature that was daring and curious had been interested in him and his brothers, or rather, one brother in particular. Leonardo's sense of honor and the way he desperately clung to his notions of right and wrong tickled her and endeared him to her. He was so good. Almost too good to be true. There was something about him that she found intrigued her and he was often on her mind. She found herself being drawn more and more towards that light that burned inside of him so brightly; so righteously. What started out as a mere curiosity and a game to play was slowly becoming a complicated labyrinth of secret desires and hidden emotional attachment. Not what she had planned for herself when she had started this game.

And now, being held so close, so very close, she couldn't deny that Leonardo was physically magnificent despite being only partially human and partially reptilian. It was bad enough that his persona was clouding her mind, now _this_. Being this close to him only seemed to magnify his powerful primal energy and her body burned for him in response. A yearning that would have to be met and quenched elsewhere, later. She was playing with fire here and things were getting a little too warm for her comfort zone. Again she tried to laugh off the situation, but she only managed a weak sort of huff and turned her face away; unable to hold the intensity of that gaze; cheeks flushing, inner thighs quivering. Immediately, he released her and took a half-step back as if catching himself doing something that he only just realized was wrong. He cleared his throat roughly and dropped his eyes to the ground.

"I-I didn't want you to fall," he said quickly as in explanation for his bold behavior.

"Don't be insulting," she snapped and his face shot up. The fragile shield of humor she grasped at was gone and her heart raced from a surge of unwanted feelings. Anger was an easy emotion to understand. Much simpler than the stampeding emotions clouding her head at the moment. So she latched on to her anger and fed it indignation and feigned offense. "You forget that I'm _kunoichi_." She pulled her sword from her saya at her waist. "A dangerous thing to do."

Surprise and something like disappointment flickered through his eyes and though she felt a pang of regret, she showed him only eagerness to fight. The memory of his body pressed into hers warmed her cheeks again and she pushed it away. What was not so easy to dismiss was the feeling of happiness she'd felt when he first stepped out of the shadows a few moments ago. With some reluctance he pulled his sword free.

"I . . . thought you wanted to . . ." the words trailed off as if he were feeling embarrassed for even suggesting that he thought she hadn't lured him here only to fight.

She interjected quickly, "Play? Well, you were right. So, stop standing there like a fool."

He blinked at the insult as if it had actually stung. She steeled herself against the jolt of remorse she felt at hurting his feelings and swung her sword in a lazy arc around the top of her head. The blade caught the moonlight and winked at him with a wicked glee, an anticipatory hunger. "Let's play."

* * *

"That it, Leo? Aw, how cute. Standin' in the cold, freezing your ass off while you try to get the courage to ask her if she likes ya, huh, Fearless?" he asked with a sneer. He took two steps towards his brother, closing the distance between them. Getting in his face. "Until I showed up and cramped your style," he smiled and it was a slick thing; cruel and hard.

Leonardo continued to stare into his eyes; looking murderous as his face darkened. Raphael eased back and chuckled, "Like you'd even know what to do with her."

Leonardo's fists clenched and unclenched. He kept his feelings well-guarded. Or so he thought. The fact that Raphael had so easily seen through his veneer of disinterest was unsettling. He couldn't risk saying anything that would further incriminate him, so he switched gears.

"Let's go," he said abruptly and turned. He took a few steps and looked over his shoulder. Raph was heading in the opposite direction. He paused, "I said, let's go, Raph."

Raphael wagged a finger over his shoulder as he continued to cross the roof, "Yeah, I'll catch up."

"What?!" Leonardo had had just about enough of Raphael for one evening. He felt the muscles in his neck tighten as he hunched his shoulders. "_Raph_," he barked but Raphael was already over the side of the building and gone. _"Dammit!" _

Leo paced the roof in a circle, fuming. Torn over whether it was worth it to go after the stubborn bastard or just let him go. From below a siren blared, crying in the night. A heavy weariness settled over him and he suddenly just wanted to go home and go to bed. If he were really lucky, Mikey would have made everyone a light snack once he got back to the lair. With a grim expression on his face, he spun around. His coat flared like the wing of some nocturnal beast snapping at the frigid bite of the gushing wind. Grounding his teeth together in frustration, he dashed into the night; heading for home; worried over Raph's destination, but unable to specifically identify exactly what he was worried about.

* * *

Karai set her belt down on the end table. She reached back and rubbed the side of her face where Raphael's blow had connected. Her tongue jabbed the wide gash her teeth had cut and she grimaced. That bastard! How dare he hit her so hard!

A shadow passed over her window and she twisted; head cocked. Her fingers stretched out to take hold of her short sword where she set it next to the front door of her temporary apartment. Instead of the hilt, she felt three large fingers wrap around her wrist and grip tightly. She tensed, but didn't react in time. Her arm went up and back behind her, being bent at a cruel angle. The breath caught in her throat and she hissed in pain. She lurched forward and she felt him grind himself into her from behind. A rush of heat incinerated her lower abdomen. She felt her cheeks redden. A low chuckle identified the intruder. Not that she had any doubt who it was from the rough handling.

Her voice wavered around the edges as she snarled, "I'm surprised you had the nerve to show up here after that performance on the roof, Raphael."

"Should I be scared you'll retaliate?" he teased and his breath danced across the back of her neck.

She broke out in goose-pimples and had to fight to hide the shiver of pleasure that raced through her. He let her go and she spun around, not wasting a moment. Her hand flashed out and caught his cheek. The slap cracked loud through the quiet of the apartment. The impact of it only made his face turn slightly to the left. He slowly turned to look at her as he crossed his arms and tilted his head at her. Though not much taller than her, he seemed to loom over her like a finely sculpted titan. Raphael's amber eyes gleamed with an inner fire that smoldered and left her panting. She shook out her sore hand and swallowed; heart fluttering.

"That's for calling me a bitch," she growled and her voice sounded weak and frail, breathless. Internally, she cursed.

"Got it out of your system?"

"Not even close," she purred as she collected herself and grappled to gain control on the situation. She ran a hand through her hair and hoped he didn't notice how her fingers trembled.

"_Good_," he said, a growl in his voice and a lustful glint in his eyes.

He reached forward and gripped her by the upper arms and pulled her close; wrapping his heavily muscled arms tightly around her back in a python-like grasp. The breath was stolen from her with the swift and crushing movement. Just like that the room spun and Karai felt as if she was suddenly out too deep and drowning. He pressed a hungry kiss to her mouth. The sound of fabric being torn filled the air as his strong fingers dug into the material of her uniform and tugged it from her flesh.

She wanted to tell him to take it easy; bracing her hands against his broad shoulders and pushing, but she might as well have been trying to push over a skyscraper; for all the effort she gave, he didn't budge an inch. It was always this way with him. The moment she finally got it through to him and he fully understood that she was interested in him more as a lover than a sparring partner, his intense focus on having sex was . . . impressive. She wanted to take control, but instead, she felt him dominating her, as always. She felt the world tilt as he pushed her backwards onto the floor.

"W-Wait," she gasped. He paused, face buried in her neck, listening. "Let's go in th-the bedroom, at least."

With a grunt, he rose up and gathered her in his arms and stormed down the short hallway. He kicked open her bedroom door and she winced as it banged against the wall, the doorknob knocking a dent into the drywall. With a smooth jerk of his arms, she flew through the air, landing on her mattress; the breath rushed from her as she bounced. Wasting not another second, he pounced on her; pinning her to the bed before she could say another word or even catch her breath.

* * *

Mikey's eyes cracked open and he became aware of a throbbing ache pulsing through his face. His head hurt and there was an awful taste in the back of his throat. Coppery and thick. Numbly he turned his head to the side and grimaced. His mouth felt funny and not in a ha-ha sort of way. It hurt when he tried to move his dry tongue around to poke at what exactly was causing the pain. He found the inside of one side of his cheeks hot. It tasted of blood and was swollen and tender. A frown puckered his brows. He didn't remember being punched in the mouth . . . at least the wooden gag was gone. The gag! His face shot up and he blinked furiously to clear his vision as the memory of fighting the Foot soldier came back to him.

He was leaning partially on his shell against a wall; arms over his head. When he pulled on them, he heard chains rattling and felt the metal cuffs bite into the tender flesh of his wrists. He couldn't move one arm without moving the other. He craned his neck up to see a thick spacer bar between his wrists, attached to the metal cuffs, keeping his wrists just about shoulder width apart. He yanked and pulled but there was very little give in the chains. It was only making his skin chafe so he stopped to catch his breath.

He twisted his chin back and forth to discover a wide metal collar fixed around this throat. The edge dug into his chin with the movement. It wasn't tight, but the idea of it being there made him suddenly feel like he was choking. His legs were free and his heels dug into the lumpy mattress that he found himself propped on. He spent a few seconds giving into panic as his legs kicked and he struggled to free himself only to slump back against the wall, panting and feeling the blood trickle down his left arm. He had to calm down. He glanced around, hoping to spot something he could use to free himself with.

He was in a room not much bigger than their living room back at the lair. The air smelled musty and damp. A shiver raced over his bare flesh. He noticed his coat and all his other belongings had been stripped from him. He was on a mattress in one corner. The ceiling was low and rough. His eyes roved over the sinister looking manacles and chains and hooks suspended from the ceiling at various points. He looked up and spotted a long metal bar hanging from the ceiling just over his head. This was like something out of one of the horror movies he used to watch. He felt his heart start to hammer and he forced himself to remain calm. He swallowed dryly and decided now was not the best time to revisit those particular memories. He was sure he was here temporarily before being turned over to Foot headquarters and the Shredder. Those chains and things were probably just there to intimidate him. Forcing down his growing terror, he continued to gaze around in the darkness.

The walls were rough stone and a lone window above on his right allowed some gray light to filter in. He felt a flare of bright hope that was quickly extinguished. A row of black bars ran vertically through the opening, not that he could've squeezed through the space if they weren't there, the window was more like an air vent, narrow and not much wider than eight inches or so. Dust motes twirled in the air in lazy arcs as Mikey's eyes squinted into the darkness to make out the rest of the room.

There was a wooden staircase in front of him and a little to the left. If he were to escape, it looked like that was his best option. Unless there was another, larger, window on the opposite wall hidden in the dark, but he doubted it. Across the room to the side of the staircase was a long wooden table, in the same rough looking wood as the staircase was made of. Various tools were laid out on the table, but Mikey couldn't tell what they were. A large plastic bucket sat on the floor next to the table. There was a large metal basin set behind the stairs.

Next to the basin, he thought he could make out a pile of something that vaguely looked like his coat and pads. A thrill went through him. If this guy was so stupid to leave his chucks in the same room as him, then he'd have a chance! He sat up straighter and pulled at the chains holding his arms. The chains rattled and he grunted. He just needed to get over to them and he'd be in much better shape.

A groaning noise caught his attention as more gray light flooded into the room. An icy gust of wind left him shivering so hard the chains above him tinkled and rattled. The staircase let out a creak and the sound of boots striking the steps reached him. The Foot soldier was coming down the staircase, a rubber hose was coiled around one arm and a heavy bag was slung over his opposite shoulder. In his right hand was the black rod that had incapacitated Mikey earlier. His eyes fell on the metallic rough tip and he swallowed remembering the electric agony searing through his nerve endings. He never wanted to feel that pain again. The man strode to the bottom of the steps. He kept his head tilted in Mikey's direction as he leaned over to one side and deposited the bag and hose onto the floor near the basin. Mikey's eyes stared at the black rod in the man's hand as he turned around to face him.

"Welcome home, Michelangelo," came the low, even voice. Mikey held his tongue and kept his racing thoughts to himself. His mind buzzed with questions. The soldier moved over to the mattress where Mikey was chained and stood to one side, staring down at him through the blank mask emblazoned with the crimson symbol of the Foot clan on the center of his forehead. He swiftly knelt next to the bed and with a smooth motion pulled the mask from his face. "I want to introduce myself properly."

The man had close cropped sandy blonde hair. The top was choppy and a few long strands hung down over his forehead. The man had almond-shaped wide-set eyes. In the dim light, Mikey could just make out a light blue almost gray color to them. He had a short nose and a pointed chin set in a slightly rounded face.

"I'm Malcolm," he paused and stared at Michelangelo with an expectant gaze. After a moment, a flicker of disappointment flashed before his eyes, but then a wide smile split his face and Mikey could see that the man's front top tooth was cracked on the diagonal. "Malcolm," he repeated. He leaned closer to Mikey and said loudly to his face, "MALCOLM."

"H-Hi," Mikey stuttered, unsure of just what this guy wanted from him. His mouth hurt to talk. He narrowed his eyes at the man, remembering that he was most likely the reason his mouth was battered.

"M." He pointed at his chest then he pointed at Mikey. "Like you! M for Michelangelo. M for Malcolm. You see?" He nodded in an encouraging way that had Mikey nodding along with him numbly. "We're like the candy. Well, you're like the candy, really. Because . . ." his voice dropped low to a shy whisper, "you're so sweet."

"Th-The candy?" Mikey asked, completely lost.

"Yeah. Yes. That's right," he said, nodding enthusiastically. "M and M's."

Mikey stared blankly at him. Malcolm's face dropped. "We . . . We're like . . . candy? You don't like them?" His shoulders slumped and he looked away, twisting his body to face the room. He muttered something to himself and then slammed his fist into his forehead. "Stupid! I knew it was stupid!" He twisted back in time to catch Mikey's expression of confusion and irritation. "Don't look at me like that," Malcolm said, face darkening. His voice changed pitch and took on a deep tenor, "I don't like that look. It was funny. You like to joke. I wanted to make a joke to make you laugh."

"Uh, yeah. Well, that's really . . . nice of you. But I'm not exactly in a laughing type mood here." Mikey glanced up at the chains and the metal spacer bar. Malcolm followed his gaze.

In a distracted voice, he said, "But you're _always_ laughing." He jumped to his feet and started to pace. The cattle prod was gripped tightly in his hand and it bobbed as he turned and paced the length of the floor. "Always laughing around _them_." He tapped the side of his head with the bar. He made an aggravated growling sound. Stopping suddenly, he stared at Mikey for a long time without speaking. Mikey stared back and shifted slightly.

"Look, uh, M-Malcolm –"

"Call me . . . Mal," he said breaking into Mikey's sentence in a voice that sounded like it came from far away. "I want you to call me something intimate. Something only you would call me." He nodded, his eyes coming back into focus. "Yeah. Mal. I like it. Mal!"

"Uhm, okay . . . Mal, these chains are kind of uncomfortable. Do you think maybe you could loosen them or something?"

"No," he replied flatly, immediately.

Michelangelo shifted his bottom. The collar around his neck felt heavy. He could feel the tendrils of sweat as they trickled from the back of his head down between the metal and his neck; leaving his skin clammy and slick. His flesh was already getting raw from the rough edge rubbing whenever he moved his head. His mind raced. He had to be careful. If only Donnie were here to do the talking. He'd know what to say to trick this guy into inadvertently helping him escape. Even Leo. He was always so clever with plans. He'd know just what to say. But his brothers weren't there with him. He was alone. And in that moment he felt completely the separation from his family. From his brothers who always looked out for him even when Raph was being an ass. He wanted to go home. Fear and desperation welled up within him. He had to get out of these chains. Anything would be better than sitting here chained like an animal.

"Then . . . what are you waiting for? Get it over with!" Mikey yelled, feeding his growing fear into something useful, like anger. "Get me out of this hole and take me to your Master!" he demanded.

Mal tilted his head. "My Master?" He stopped pacing and stood in front of Mikey once more. "You mean _Karai_? Why would you want to see that little whore?"

Mikey blinked at that comment, not expecting it at all. He thought there was more respect for the leaders in the Foot clan. He brushed away his confusion. "I-I thought . . . The Shredder had you capture me. It-It doesn't matter!" Mikey slammed his arms against the stones behind him. He grunted and continued banging the chains. "Just get me out of here! Now!"

The man fell forward onto his knees onto the mattress. He leaned close to Mikey and grabbed his face, hard, squeezing his cheeks together. His mouth flooded with blood and he growled but it turned into a soft whimper of pain.

Mal spoke into his face, "Are you so eager to die?" Mal's eyes were bright and almost colorless now that Mikey got a good look into them. Their eyes locked. Something sharp flashed through the man's irises and he released Mikey's face.

Panting, Mikey struggled to bring his legs up to kick the man, hoping to knock him back and away, but found it nearly impossible to adjust his weight to brace himself. Mal suddenly grabbed his thighs and forced them still. He was looking down at Mikey's body with an intense focus. Mikey shook roughly, trying to dislodge the man's grip on his thighs, but Mal held on, pressing them down.

"I didn't bring you here just to turn you over to that bitch, Karai," he said. He narrowed his eyes suspiciously at Michelangelo. "Why? Do you want to fuck her too? Like your brothers?"

Mikey's eyes widened into circles and he froze. What was this guy talking about? His face shot to the right as Malcolm slapped him. His cheek blazed with tingling pain and he tasted fresh blood. He swallowed and his stomach curdled with the thick substance. He thought he was going to be sick and did his best to ignore the bloody bile rising in the back of his throat.

"You don't want her. Don't tell me you want her! She's got your brothers! Why does she get you, too?"

"Grah!" He shoved Mikey's shoulders and his shell hit the wall. "You know what she's like?" he asked suddenly, his voice dropping as his eyes widened. He lifted his hands in front of Mikey's face and fluttered his fingers. "She's like a little spider," he said, annunciating each syllable. "Weaving her little web to snare little turtles who don't know what a lying little whore she is." He made a circle between finger and thumb and with his other hand he moved his index and middle finger in and out, simulating sex. "She's got her hole filled with two cocks. She doesn't need yours, too."

Mikey felt his face blush despite himself. This guy was making stuff up to get to him. No way were his brothers seeing Karai on the side. He'd have known. He'd have caught on if one or both of them were sneaking around. But then his heart dropped. The memory of Raph and Leo at various times slipping out, only to return home as he was preparing breakfast, making him only dimly realize at the time that they'd been out all night came to him, leaving him feeling uncomfortable and nervous.

"Besides, she would devour your sweetness and spit out your bones when she was done with you," he went on recapturing Mikey's attention. "But don't worry. I will keep you safe." His face shot up at this strange comment. Mikey froze as he listened intently. "I knew it was up to me. It was always up to me. The others would've gotten you eventually. I know this because I've watched you. Studied you. You're not as smart as your brothers." Mikey frowned at the insulting observation. "You're not as skilled. Not as strong. Look how easily I caught you. You were lost in your head, in that alley, like you always are. And I love that about you." Mikey swallowed as his frown deepened. "You're just lucky I was the one that got you and not the other soldiers. So, so lucky," his voice dropped again. Low and husky.

Slowly he brought his left hand upwards, sliding it along his thigh until he stopped where Mikey's leg met his body.

"Since the day I saw you, running on that roof top two years ago, I knew. When I laid mine own eyes upon your magnificent form, I knew. I knew you were sent to me. To belong to me. A gift. I deserve you. We are deserving of each other."

Mikey felt his heart hammering as his eyes widened with the full realization hitting him of just what the situation was that he found himself in. _Oh god._ He wasn't working with the Shredder. This guy was . . . his mind scattered as he tried to think of the right word . . . _rogue_. No. This guy was nuts. Bonkers. _ Just my luck to get caught by a kook,_ he thought miserably.

Mikey tensed as the man twisted his hand and cupped his groin. He felt the warmth of Malcolm's hand heating through his lower plastron. It felt like the man was burning up with a fever or something. His breath hitched as Mal pressed with his fingertips on the delicate, sensitive flesh just beneath the protective edge of his plastron. So close to the protective pocket that kept his masculinity hidden from plain view. Mal edged his head down and took a closer look.

Stunned, Mikey's rigid body froze in disbelief and fear. "Wh-What are you – S-Stop!" Mikey's face crushed into a horrified frown; a slick, uneasy feeling crawled through him, making his stomach clench and flutter. The situation was much worse than he first thought. This guy wasn't just nuts. He was insane and a predator! Mikey thought was a desperate jolt of terror. Sweat continued to dribble down the back of his neck. Though Master Splinter had never talked directly to Mikey in any detail about what may happen to one of them if they were ever captured, he knew that he'd had those conversations with Leonardo and Raphael. They never told him more than he had to know, he understood it was their way of trying to protect him. But Mikey had watched enough television to have come across shows that Master Splinter may not have approved of. Shows that had police solving murder cases and chasing predators that preyed on children. A thrill of terror raced up and down his spine and he trembled.

"G-Get offa me!" Mikey cried and shifted, doing his best to knock Malcolm away. He brought his left leg up but Malcolm used his shoulder to easily knock it back. For a moment no one moved except for Michelangelo's heaving chest as he panted.

Mal inched his empty eyes up until they locked on Mikey's. He continued to stare at him as his fingers slid down. Mikey felt an ounce of relief that he'd passed his hidden opening, but that soon was replaced with fresh terror as he felt Malcolm's fingers continue to prod and press and explore lower, between his legs, nearer to his tail that was quivering in fear. Mikey tried to bring his legs together, but could only move the left one. Mal's grip on his right leg was iron-clad. His fingers bit deeply into his muscle as he held him in place.

"You're so soft under here," he said softly as he stroked Mikey's flesh. "Not as hard as I thought. I like it."

Mikey gasped as he felt Mal's fingers discover and then caress his tail. Malcolm made a hmm'ing sound in his throat and frowned. "I don't like this," he said to Mikey.

He gave the tail a tug and Mikey clenched his jaw as an electric pain shot up through his spine. He did his best not to cry out, but it hurt. Their tails were one of the most sensitive parts of their body besides the part they kept inside the pouch beneath their lower plastron. "I'll have to do something about this later," he said ominously.

"L-Lemme go," Mikey demanded. "Y-You can't . . . do this!" he pleaded.

He felt Malcolm release his tail and for a fraction of a second, he was relieved. But then he felt prodding at the very base of his tail, between his bottom cheeks, near his rectum. He tensed as his body iced over with terror. Then, with a rough motion, the man cruelly penetrated his entrance by shoving the tip of his finger inside then jamming it all the way inside.

_"UGH! AAH!"_

With a frantic motion, Mikey brought his legs up, breaking out of Mal's grasp. He kicked out with all his desperate might. The room filled with his growl until the collar gagged him as his body jerked with the motion. His growl was strangled into a choking sound. The impact of the blow knocked Mal backwards off the mattress. He was on his feet in a second.

He reached down and fumbled with the young turtle's kicking legs until he grabbed Mikey by the ankles. With unexplainable strength Mal lifted Mikey up and off the mattress. He pulled on his legs until the collar was pressed flush into the front of his throat; choking Mikey. Writhing and struggling to get free and to breathe, Mikey fought with everything he had. But it was no use. He couldn't fight in this position. He could only struggle and choke. His lungs burned with their need for oxygen. The pounding in his head and throbbing in his mouth escalated. Then, as the edges of his vision grew dark, Malcolm released his legs, letting him fall back onto the mattress. He struggled to breathe, making long straining noises as he dragged air through his abused throat. Suddenly, Mikey felt Malcolm on top of him. Straddling him. His weight on his chest making it even harder to breathe.

In a soothing voice, Malcolm said, "Easy. Easy." He petted the side of Michelangelo's moist cheek. His tone took on a sing-song ring as he went on, "Now, you're going to behave yourself young man. I don't want to mark you up more than I was planning on. But I _will_ do what you _make_ me do. I _will_ punish you when you're _bad_. Understand?" He patted Mikey's cheek as he gave the man a jerking nod with wide eyes. Malcolm's gray eyes rolled up to the ceiling. "Though I die a little when we're apart, I have to leave for now. I don't want that minx Karai getting any funny notions in her dim-witted little head of hers. I'll come back as soon as I can. But it may be a few days."

Mikey's heart gave a leap of hope. He was leaving. For a few days! It could be his chance to escape. Before he could internally celebrate the news, Malcolm brought his face down and smashed his mouth onto Mikey's.

_Oh god! What the hell!_

Michelangelo grimaced, lips pressed together tightly and tried to turn his head away, still coughing through his gritting teeth; making his cheeks puff out. Malcolm slid his tongue across Michelangelo's lips; making Mikey shudder in revulsion. When the kiss was finished, Malcolm climbed off of Michelangelo's body. Slipping his hand behind him, he pulled from a pouch on his uniform belt, a set of keys. He jangled them, and selected one. He reached up and Mikey heard a brief screech, a pop and a clank of the chains as his arms fell back behind his head.

"There. You'll be more comfy this way while I'm gone."

Unsure if it was a trick, Mikey slowly brought his aching arms over his head and down to rest with the spacer bar across his chest. The collar still bit into his throat, but this was an improvement. He wished he could rub his tingling, numb hands together. But that wasn't going to happen thanks to the metal spacer bar between his wrists. He used his elbows to scoot back and sit up, bracing himself in the corner; heart still hammering with what he'd just been put through. The word, _assaulted_ flitted through his mind. _He assaulted me_, he thought with sorrow and anger. He felt tears building and he stubbornly refused to let them fall. There was no way this guy was going to see him cry. No freakin' way.

"When I come back we'll play some more." His face split into a huge grin. "We're going to have so much fun! I can't wait to give myself to you. I can't wait to fill you with my love. And I have so much love to give you. More than you ever had with those . . . _brothers_," he spat the last word as if it made him sick to even think about Mikey's brothers. With that he spun on his heel, stooped to pick up his mask from the floor and skipped up the steps.

Mikey sat huddled in the corner of the room, shaken and trembling as silence fell all around him. In the distance through the small window, he thought he could hear the sound of Malcolm walking away; his boots crunching in the snow. As the sound faded and was replaced with a car's engine revving, and then fading away, he was left with the thundering sound of his heartbeat in his ears.

He had to stay calm. He took in a steadying breath and blew it out slowly. _At least the nut job is gone, that's a good thing_, he thought optimistically. _Okay. Think._ He had a few days to make his escape. A few days for his brothers to find him and rescue him. No. He wasn't even going to wait that long. He was going to get the hell out of here before they even had to find him, he thought with mock bravado and rose up on his knees.

But as he glanced around the gloom of the room and he lifted his aching arms to look more closely at the thick manacles around his wrists and the metal bar separating his hands, he felt his bravado slipping away. He sat back down, against the wall. The brief bout of optimism slipped out of his heart like a silk ribbon slipping from his fingers; replaced with a thick oppressive feeling of despair.

_He assaulted me. _He blinked back the tears and steeled himself._ It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter. Think!_

He shook his arms and yanked back and forth at the metal spacer bar, the long chain connected to the manacles at this wrists rattled. He gazed at the links in the chain. If he were strong like his brother Raph, he could maybe, pull the links of the chains apart and get himself free. But Mikey knew there was no way he could manage such a feat. He stared at the metal links and with one finger, awkwardly tugged at the edge of the collar around his neck with a groan. He dropped his arms down with a sigh. Unless he could chew through these chains, he had no way to get free. The thought of chewing brought a new notion to the forefront of his mind.

He frantically looked around the room. His eyes darting from one corner to the other to the edge of the mattress. Nothing. There was nothing. Malcolm didn't leave him anything to eat. He said he would be gone for a couple of days and there was nothing to eat! The very thought made his traitorous stomach growl and his evil mind conjured thoughts of the big breakfast he had planned for his family this morning. Plates of steaming pancakes and crisp browned bacon drifted in his mind's eye. He clenched his eyes closed tightly. _Stop torturing yourself, dumbass!_ Pull it together! He had to be stronger than this!

"But what if . . . I'm not strong," he whispered to himself morosely, the words hitching in his suddenly too tight throat. Malcolm's earlier words drifted through his mind like a half-remembered nightmare, _'You're not as smart as your brothers. Not as strong.'_

Blinking back the burning tears that blurred his vision, his eyes rose to the window above him. The morning's light was his only comfort as he settled deeper into the corner, shivering with the cold, fighting off the feelings of panic and despair clawing at the edges of his heart.

"Hurry up and find me, guys."

* * *

**A/N: **How am I doing with Malcolm? Insane enough? Believable? Bring on those reviews, guys! I need 'em!


	4. Red like Wine, Black like Blood

**Chapter 4 – Red like Wine, Black like Blood**

* * *

Leonardo woke early to the unusual string of curse words from Donatello as he marched past his bedroom door. He swung his legs over the edge of his bed, reached up and pulled his mask from the peg on the wall where he hung it before bed every night and tied it on. Stretching his arms up over his head and popping his neck first to the left then the right, he stepped out of his room. He watched Donatello as he pounded on Michelangelo's door. Head down, Donatello crossed his arms as his toes tapped impatiently.

"What he do this time?" Leo asked him, a knowing smile spread over his face, as he moved past towards the kitchen.

"Do you really want me to list the myriad of things that I found covered in sticky fingerprints," Don asked over his shoulder with a growl. "He had his head in that bowl of kettle corn and goobers yesterday when he asked if he could borrow the tiny screwdriver for the remote again." Then he turned back to his brother's door. "I know you're awake, goofball, I can see your light is on."

Leo emerged from the kitchen, a box of cereal in his hand. "He'll come out if you stop banging on the door and scaring the crap out of him. Besides, you'll need some caffeine before you try to get ahold of him." Leo chuckled as he reached in the box and pulled a handful of crisp cereal and dropped it into his open mouth. Mouth full and crunching, he added to Don's blank look, "What? He's fast."

Don's shoulders slumped. "Ah, you're right. He'd probably dart out like the little skunk he is and slip out of the lair before I could catch him." He gave the door one more glare and said, "I'll be out here waiting for an apology. Not to mention a bucket and rag for you to clean up everything you touched with those sticky fingers." He moved towards the kitchen and said over his shoulder for emphasis, "I do mean everything, Mikey."

Leo tipped the box and filled a bowl before passing it to his brother's seat. Donatello was pouring coffee grounds into the filter as he asked, "So, what happened last night. I got home and stayed up waiting for you three but you never showed. Not that you care, but I wanted to show you the technological goodies I unearthed at the junk yard last night. It was worth going out. Like I told you."

Leonardo's shoulders tightened ever so slightly. "Wait . . . Hold on. You mean me and Raph?"

Donatello frowned and leaned on the counter, crossing his arms. "No, I mean, you, Raph and Mr. Sticky Fingers."

Leonardo set the box of cereal down slowly on the table. He twisted to look at Mikey's bedroom door. A sinking feeling pulled at his stomach as his knees grew weak. He took two steps when Raphael burst into the lair. He froze and his face darted towards Raph. He blinked and his mouth hung open a moment as he realized his brother had been out _all night_.

"Where the hell have you been?" Leo asked, momentarily distracted from his unease.

"Well, good morning to you, too, Chief," Raph said with a wink in his direction.

Leo snapped his mouth shut and looked from Raph to Don, who huffed and gave his head a shake, and back again. Raph was in an unusually cheerful mood. He couldn't help but wonder what had brought it on. Since they had left things unsettled between them, he had figured Raph would be in a foul state this morning. At least, he thought he'd still be peeved at him. He never expected his brother to be . . . cheerful.

Raph unwrapped his scarf, balled it into a knot and tossed it into a pile of their outer wear near the entrance. He breezed past Donatello, humming, and swung open the refrigerator, sticking his head in deep and retrieving a carton of orange juice. He flicked it open and guzzled the liquid down. He wiped his chin and bottom lip and grinned at Donatello whose eyes flicked from the clock on the wall to his brother and then to Leo, who stood with fists clenched and a darkening countenance, before he ducked his head and cradling his coffee cup in two hands slid from the kitchen.

He mumbled, "It's too early to deal with this nonsense." He passed by Leonardo and said, "Might I remind you that Master Splinter is still asleep." He patted Leonardo's arm and retreated to his lab.

"Where's the bonehead at? I was hopin' ta get some of those pancakes he was yammerin' on about making yesterday." He poked around the sink and opened a few cabinets, looking inside and grunting when he found no pancakes hidden within. "You guys didn't eat them all before I got here, did you?"

Leonardo moved into the kitchen. "He's not up yet. Raph . . . _Raphael," _he snapped to get his brother's attention and grabbed Raphael's arm, twisting him around.

As Raphael turned a scent hit Leonardo. Lavender soap. It took him off guard and he lost his train of thought.

He blinked hard, "You . . . shower somewhere?"

Raph pushed Leo's arm away with deliberate care. Raph looked him in the eye. There was a superior glint written across his amber eyes. Not one of anger or defiance. No, this was something different. It made Leo feel strangely vulnerable and he involuntarily swallowed.

"That – is none of your business." He gently popped Leonardo at the end of his snout with the back of his finger and walked into the living room. For a moment Leonardo was too stunned to move. His simmering anger at his brother's defiance and arrogant, flippant behavior this morning vanished. Replaced with a stunned, frozen terror. Because when his brother flicked his nose . . . he caught another scent along his brother's digits hidden just beneath the soap. One that was nearly undoubtable in its clarity in his mind. A woody scent mixed with the distinct sharp smell of cherry blossoms. Unmistakable. But there was a musky undertone that he could only hope with bleak denial was not what he _thought_ it was.

"_Raph_," he croaked and cleared his throat.

Raph turned and raised his brows. He looked at him with sleepy expectation.

He clenched and unclenched his suddenly clammy fists. He didn't want to know. But he had to find out. But he really didn't want to know. His throat worked as the question that needed to be asked bounced and ricocheted inside his mind like a bullet shot wildly into the air. What he was afraid of was ridiculous, he had nothing to worry about. He chided himself for jumping to such outrageous conclusions. Karai and . . . he couldn't even think the sentence through. He turned his head to one side, staring at the floor as he struggled. He didn't want to ask. But he had to. As leader of their clan he was responsible for the actions and whereabouts of his brothers at all times. The knowledge and subsequent actions he would have to take were his to bear alone. He had to learn what his brother had done with the long hours of the night before; while he was on his own and out from under the watchful guidance of his older brother and leader. He had to know where Raphael had gone - _to_ _Karai_, his wretched mind whispered - and who he was with -_ Karai._

_The woman you trusted. The woman you've fallen in love with. My brother . . ._

He pinched his eyes closed against the pain that was threatening to overwhelm and took in a steadying breath. There was no proof of that, he argued with himself. It was only his fear talking; tricking his mind to believe something that just could not be true. For despite never having voiced his feelings to any of his brothers, surely Raphael had guessed that he was starting to grow more than a little fond of the dangerous kunoichi. After what he implied last night on the roof . . . the fight! Maybe Raph smelled of Karai from his fight with her. A spark of hope ignited in his chest, but was quickly extinguished as the memory of that distinctive scent of musk on his brother's fingertips came back to him. The female human gave off a certain scent when fully aroused. Not that he was an expert. He had really only gotten a wiff of it once, only a few days ago when he had met Karai in a particularly odd and playful mood.

. . .

He had been nervous to meet with her again. The last time he responded to one of her messages, he ended up in a sparring match with his shoulder nicked and a few new scars along the back of one hand and forearm. Despite being shallow and thin, they represented something greater than just a battle slip up or a block not quite as clean as he had hoped. They represented his growing dependency on seeing her, even if it meant only to fight with her. Only to add to more of his collection of scars. He yearned for her more and more and it was a frightening feeling. It felt like he was losing control of something important. It felt like drowning. It felt like falling. And he was falling fast and hard.

She had him pacing the roof of an abandoned apartment building. Agitated and nervous. Anxious and hopeful. But hopeful of what exactly, he had no idea. He had come at the instructed time only to find the space clear and no sign of life anywhere in the vicinity. The neighborhood was like an evacuated war zone. In the distance, a train whistle blew and he counted the seconds between each lonesome wail. He was about to leave, disheartened and disappointed, when she emerged from the roof access shed, clad in only a long, fur-trimmed robe.

"Well, are you going to stand out here freezing your tail off or are you coming inside?" she asked and stepped aside to allow him access.

Without a word, only a wide-eyed glance at her, he crossed the roof and slid inside. He followed her down the narrow stairs, fearful that he was being led into a trap, but unable to stop himself from following her like a shadow lusting for its physical counterpart. They passed several apartment entrances with gaping doorways or busted doors hanging on the frame by rusted hinges until they came to a door that was intact. She twisted the knob and stopped, making him nearly bump into her in his haste to follow inside, before he caught himself and took a half-step back.

"Careful," she purred.

He swallowed and tensed. Was she warning him? Giving him a chance to bolt? Rigidly he stepped behind her and entered the room. Part of his mind was screaming at him that this was in no part a good idea. But before he took another step, he stopped abruptly to let his mind process what he saw.

The apartment was bare except for a large plush blanket strewn across the middle of the floor. Next to it were two wine glasses, a bottle of wine, a plate with grapes and dried fruit along with a white rose. On the other side of the blanket were three tall candle sticks. White candles were placed inside each and the yellow flame flickered as Karai moved around them.

"What is this? A trap?" Leo asked and immediately cringed, hearing how stupid he sounded in his own ears. It was obviously not a trap.

"A trap? Hm, guess again, Leonardo."

He gulped as his name rolled along her tongue and languished in the sweet sound of her voice. "Are you surprised?" She turned her head a little and narrowed her eyes with a half-smile. "Well just wait," she said and his eyes snapped to her.

She slowly pulled the robe open and let it slide down the length of her body, her hands placed in front of her; fingers splayed across her belly. Leo watched it's trajectory with a heart that galloped and his breath became shallow and heavy. She was in a slip of a gauzy gown. The hem just brushed the tops of her milky white thighs. The top dipped low between her breasts and the edges were lacey as they reached up and connected to two thin straps that went over her bare shoulders.

His eyes raked over her form; devouring the sight before him. A tremor went through him and he found himself trembling and unable to stop. Suddenly, he felt clumsy and overly large. His hands didn't seem to know where to go and his knees bumped into each other as he took a half-step forward. He blinked several times and looked everywhere but at her; feeling his face burn fiercely. Afraid that if he looked at her again, he'd never be able to tear his gaze away.

Finding his voice as well as his dignity he said, "I don't know what you think you're doing –"

"I think I'm having fun," she said and moved to lay along her right thigh. She reached out and poured a glass of wine. "At least, I'm trying to. Being part of the Foot clan is boring, Leo. With a capital 'B'. Can't a girl get out and enjoy herself." She poured the other glass and held it out to him. "Have some?"

"Having fun?" his voice was hoarse. Didn't she know what this was doing to him? Didn't she care? Anger flared bright and hot within him. Before he realized it, he was on his knees, knocking the glass from her grip. The wine sprayed across the wooden floor; painting it in a wide arc of deep maroon. He was on top of her, gripping her by the arms. Her face was crushed into a look of shock and fury.

"Having fun?" he repeated and gave her a little shake. "When are the soldiers coming? Huh, Karai?" he growled from between gritted teeth. "When will you spring the dozens of ninja on me? When I'm close to you? When I'm drunk? Maybe you'll let me kiss you and then signal them. Is that it?" His eyes, wild and stormy with a mix of outrage, despair and need bounced between hers. "Answer me!" he screamed in her face.

"N-No!" she yelled and her voice wavered. There was a pause as they stared into each other's eyes. "I-I have no plans," she panted, "like that. Not now. Not for tonight. Not for you."

He huffed and slowly eased his grip on her arms, noticing from the corner of his eye, the dark marks his fingers had left and feeling sudden regret. Sudden exhaustion and sadness. He just wanted to go home. He turned to move to leave when her arms went around his neck. Surprised, he turned his face in time for her lips to meet his. The breath rushed from his lungs as Karai kissed him. Deeply. With a hunger he only understood on the most primal of levels.

They broke apart. Her scent wafted over him. Woody and sweet. Forests and cherry blossoms. Exotic and mouthwatering. Breathing in soft panting gasps, he searched her eyes gazing up at him and blinked in disbelief. There was something in her eyes that spoke to him of a need, a yearning that matched his. There was no doubt. But there was something else, as well. Something deeper. A joyful look that he could only associate the word, _love_, to. He tipped his head and gingerly, he kissed her jawline, moving down to the side of her throat, down to lap at her collarbone.

_"Karai . . ." _he rumbled softly into her neck.

He felt her tremble and a new scent reached him. The heavier, musky scent spoke of only one thing. _Desire_.

. . .

Leonardo raised his glassy eyes up to his brother, keeping his head low; a defensive posture he could not bring himself to hide. All his control and strength was reserved to keeping himself upright and composed. His face neutral. "Where were you last night?" he asked and was proud that he was able to keep his voice level and authoritative.

A slow smirk spread over Raph's face. Leonardo straightened up even as his shoulders slumped. His heart sank and his stomach twisted as his mouth slowly opened in silent denial. Raphael's eyes narrowed and he tipped his head a little as he replied, "Wouldn't you like ta know." With that he turned his shell to Leonardo and fell into the sofa with a satisfied groan; flicking on the television. "Tell Mikey I'll take those pancakes whenever he gets up off his lazy ass."

Leo stood frozen in place, heart beating as if it wanted to escape from his chest. He felt dizzy and all at once hot and cold. His breath was a tight knot caught in the center of his burning throat. _It isn't true._ She . . . she wouldn't . . . she . . . His mind blanked as he ran a palm over his face. Was the room this cold all morning? Was it always tipping to the side?

"Good morning my sons," Splinter said with warm cheer as he emerged from his room. "I hope you are all well rested from the night before."

"I dunno about rested, but I sure feel good, Sensei," Raph said, rubbing the back of his neck and chuckling with wicked glee.

And Leonardo's world went red as his eyes went white with wild rage.

* * *

Karai moved through the wide tiled room. The heels of her boots clacked with each forceful step she took. Several men bowed deeply as she passed. One came up to her side and handed her a file.

"The shipment went as planned, Mistress. Your father is greatly pleased."

Karai stopped herself from rolling her eyes. "Very good." She moved and handed the file to another of her lacky's and turned to leave, heading for her personal quarters to shower and find a garment that would more effectively hide the various bruises and bite marks that lined the side of her neck and shoulders. She shifted and grimaced a little feeling the tenderness in more than just her back and between her breasts. The soldier was still there. Despite the mask covering his face, Karai could tell he was hesitating about something and needed to talk. "What? Don't just stand there, spit it out."

"Uhm, right, Mistress. I apologize. I do not mean to cause dissent among our ranks. Nor do I intend to cause any sort of –"

Karai snapped, impatient and longing for her shower, "What is it?!"

"M-Malcolm. Malcolm Sengrindt. H-He went off on his own again. Last night when you ordered us back. H-He did not return. Erin thought he saw him drive off in a truck, towards the east side docks. We think he's been going to the mansion near the graveyard."

This time Karai did roll her eyes. Not this again. Malcolm. The Foot soldier obsessed with tracking the turtles and his non-stop muttering to himself. On more than one occasion Karai had to send out men to track him down and bring him back to headquarters when he'd gone AWOL. He'd adamantly fought against the accusation that he'd been working with another clan - understandably so, if caught, it would mean death - admitting only that he was doing his own side research on the mutant turtles that somehow would be of use to the Foot clan once he was done. Even under light torture, it remained the consensus that he really was just caught up in something regarding catching the turtles or one of them, Karai wasn't sure. If he'd really come up with something of use for the clan through these efforts, Karai highly doubted it. For the most part, she had ignored his strange lapses. That is until the men would start to complain. Then it was up to her to act out her role as leader.

Malcolm was odd and not very bright. She chalked it up to him having a natural curiosity coupled with a fixation on the mutants. Not every person had a chance to learn there were such creatures living among them. It was natural for him and others to be curious. She didn't blame him, not really. The problem was that he was constantly losing track of his orders. And thus she had to punish him, often. No wonder he was assigned to her division. Her father probably thought it was an excellent way to develop her lacking heartlessness and cruelty.

She ran a hand across her forehead and sighed in exasperation. What was she going to do with him? She didn't want to have to have him tortured. Not again. The fool was a babbling idiot as it was. Then again, she could have him whipped, but just a few lashes. That should satisfy everyone. As she opened her mouth to give the order, the soldier before her straightened up and Karai twisted to see the man in question walking up to them, pulling his mask over his head.

"Good morning," he mumbled and bowed. "I am sorry I was late. Please forgive me, Mistress."

She narrowed her eyes at his tone. She didn't care for the way he referred to her title. Karai would have just let the whole thing go, but she was in a bad mood. Raphael was particularly rough last night and after the overly harsh encounter with him on the roof, she was feeling just about fed up with everyone. She just wanted peace. Unbidden, Leonardo's face popped into her mind. She blinked at the image, taken aback. Her cheeks flushed and she cleared her throat as she adjusted her uniform.

"I understand you went missing again last night, Malcolm," she said.

Malcolm's masked face shot up. It darted to the man before her then dropped. He bowed again this time lower.

"N-No. I-I mean, yes, Mistress. I-I had thought I-I had seen one of the turtles and I h-had to check it out," he stammered out. Karai could see him shaking and she shook her head in disgust.

She turned to the soldier in front of her. "Ten lashes. This morning. Be quick."

"N-No!" Malcolm cried out and grabbed her by the arm. The other soldier tensed. "P-Please! I-I am sorry, Mistress! It wasn't my fault! I had to go! I had to! It was my only chance!"

Karai frowned. Then she glanced down at her arm. He released his fingers with a start as if just realizing he was touching her.

"I . . . I . . . _forgive me, Mistress_," he whispered in a tone of horror.

Karai gritted her teeth. "For touching me, give him five more." With that she turned away from the sniveling mess that pretended to be a man and stormed away. The turtle she held in her trembling arms last night was more of a man than this pile of wretched garbage.

* * *

He tried to think of someplace happy. Someplace warm and safe and secure. Where he could have what he wanted without fear. Without judgment. He struggled to think of anything good as fear and terror turned his bowels to ice water.

The whip lashed out and Malcolm screamed. "_Mercy_!" he shrieked. "M-Mercy! _Mercy_!"

The crack cut through the air. Breaking through the agonized gasping and whimpering coming from Malcolm where he was chained to the whipping pole in the cell reserved for disciplinary actions and the occasional prisoner from the other clans and gangs. The soldier holding the whip handed it to his partner.

"What a baby," he muttered.

"How many is he getting?'

"Fifteen. Total."

"_Tch_." The man shook his head, "Pathetic. I took fifteen before I made a _sound_."

The other one nodded in agreement and brought his arm around before snapping the whip across Malcolm's writhing back.

Whining and whimpering, Malcolm sobbed loudly. Desperately, he pictured Mikey as he left him. Sitting on the mattress, looking so sweet and sad. No, not sad. A flash of dark rage swept through him. It was his fault he was being punished. His fault that he was suffering and bleeding. Malcolm's stomach roiled. He choked back the vomit. He hated vomiting. He wouldn't allow it. Malcolm focused. This is _his_ fault. So Mikey _had_ to make this up to him. Mikey _had_ to. So, no. Not sad. He'll be sweet and _ready_ for him. Yes. Ready for his love.

He thought of how tight he felt around his finger and a spike of arousal slid through the pain. He thought of how Mikey's body tensed with fright as he jabbed his finger into him. Through his tears and running snot, Malcolm managed a weak smile. He couldn't help it. He had to have a little taste of what he was going to get. A giggle bubbled up and choked free. Now he just had to make it through this terrible pain. Mikey was waiting for him. He would be there when he returned. Some strength came to Malcolm then. Yes, Mikey would take his pain away. He would soothe his wounds and take care of him.

_"Mikey, Mikey,"_ he whispered it like a mantra. Like a prayer.

The Foot soldier commented, "He's a bleeder, too."

"Filthy pig. What is he mumbling?"

The other shrugged.

"Give him a few more for being such a whimpering little pig."

Their laughter was punctuated with the wicked crack of the leather coil ripping through flesh and the wailing sob of their comrade.

* * *

**A/N: Yes?! Tell meeeee!**


	5. Acquiescence

**A/N: SURPRISE!** Just when I should be writing NaNoWriMo, I wrote this! XD No, but I put in 1600 words today, so I'm okay. I think. eep!

Buckle up, sweeties...it's just getting started...

* * *

"Love me. You have destroyed everything! But if you love me, it can all be restored in a new form. Love me." -Anne Rice

* * *

**Chapter 5 – Acquiescence**

* * *

Donatello heard the crash and brushed it off. Then he heard the snarl and he jumped to his feet so quickly the chair clattered backwards to the floor, wheels spinning as he dashed from his lab. The protective goggles still covering his eyes, the heavy metal-working gloves on his hands, covering his arms up to his elbows. His head turned left and right as he ran into the living room.

Master Splinter was there, standing in the center of the room, both his hands were raised over his head in a placating gesture. He was speaking loudly in Japanese and over the growling and grunting and screaming of his apparently insane brothers, Donatello caught the string of rare curse words. They flew from his mouth as the old rat leapt out of the way just as a mass of rolling, coiling flesh and shell nearly barreled into him.

Leonardo's voice, marred by his growling, reached him. He was screaming obscenities at Raphael between punches clumsy with rage while Raphael matched the insults with uglier retorts and vicious cracks with his fists that were much more accurate. Donatello had no idea what this was all about. Leonardo had never lost his composure to this level before. Nor was he so easily bested by Raphael. His attack was sloppy and uncoordinated and he had an anguished expression that Don didn't understand the source of. But he understood both his brothers were more than a little pissed at each other. They were enraged. They were going to kill each other from the looks of things.

"Raph! Leo!" Don yelled, knowing there was no reaching them at this point. They were lost in the haze of battle, both their eyes were narrowed and white. Shaking his hands until the gloves flew free, and ripping the goggles from his head, he did what he knew he had to do in this case. He leapt onto the wide shell of the one on top, at this point it was Raphael, unfortunately for Don. As he grabbed the rim of his brother's shell and yanked, an elbow came up and struck him square in the snout. Stars exploded across his vision and he staggered back clutching his face. Between clenched teeth he swore and tried again. This time, he snagged Raphael's thick arm just as it reared back, cocked for another vicious blow aimed for the mess of swollen and bloody tissue that was Leonardo's face.

With haste, Don twisted the arm back, using both his hands to secure the grip around the bunched muscles, straining with everything he had just to be able to restrain him. He dipped and twisted at the join of his brother's wrist and managed to get it into a lock. A lock that should have had immobilized Raphael. But Raphael was like a tank and apparently when he was this worked up, he was more likely to break his own bones than allow himself to be restrained. He bucked and twisted and writhed in Donatello's hold. A fist came around somehow, thrown at Don's face. Donatello's eyes widened and his head lurched back just in time. He missed but not entirely. Raph's knuckles caught him just at the bottom of his chin and again he was forced back onto his bottom. Warm arms caught him and he struggled for a moment before realizing that Master Splinter had broken his fall. He felt his father drag him back a bit, further away from the fighting pair.

"My son," Splinter started in a breathless voice, "Do you know what this is about?"

Donatello rubbed his aching chin and said from between gritted teeth, "All I know is that Raph came home late and Leo seemed particularly pissed about it." He glanced up at Splinter, "Uh, I mean, he was pretty mad."

"I see." Splinter set him down with care and moved around him.

"Uh, Master Splinter," Don said as he watched his father creeping closer to his snarling brothers wrestling on the floor.

In a smooth motion, Splinter slipped between the two. Head down, ears flat, he pried Leonardo off of Raphael and with a spin kick squarely into his son's chest, rocked him backwards across the floor. He turned his face just as Raphael's fist came up. He caught the meaty, bloody fist and turned it away with graceful ease. The next blow landed, just as Leonardo loomed behind, clutching at his chest with a hand that was covered in his brother's blood. Master Splinter's head snapped to the side and his body followed. The reaction was instantaneous. Raphael clambered to his hands and knees and Leonardo scrambled to fall besides his injured father.

"Master!"

"Splinter! Fuck oh, oh _fuck_! I-I'm sorry!"

With the help of several bruised and bloodied hands, Splinter sat up. He placed a claw on the side of his mouth. A dribble of blood trickled down the front of his mussed and wrinkled robe. Donatello appeared with an ice pack and shot both his brothers a look that made them both recoil as he helped him to stand.

"I-I . . ."

"Master, we . . ."

Donatello helped Splinter into a seat in the kitchen. He swept the broken remains of his father's shattered mug away so he could lean his elbow on the table and brace the ice pack to his Sensei's cheek. Master Splinter patted Donatello's hand in thanks. Raphael and Leonardo, chests heaving, dripping with gore and sweat and foam staggered into the kitchen and hovered around them. Leonardo's mask was torn and hung over his collar bone, Raphael's mask was gone. Each had swollen cheeks and both had one eye swollen and blackened. They would not meet each other's eyes, instead they stared at Splinter, a look of remorse and regret painted their expressions beneath the grim coating of blood and bruises.

Master Splinter took in a shuddering breath, then another, this one calmer. Donatello straightened where he sat and glared at them both in turn. His fury was an iceberg cutting across the room and slamming into them.

"I-I'm so sorry, Masta'," Raphael said thickly from between swollen lips.

Master Splinter held up one claw to silence him.

"This behavior."

He closed his eyes. The two of them. Always this way. Always at each other's throats the second he turned his back. If one wasn't instigating and acting defiantly the other was critical and oppressive until they attacked each other. It had been this way with them since they were but small children. The competitiveness between them could not be extinguished. No matter how evenly he distributed the praise, no matter how hard he tried to show them he loved them each in turn the same. It did nothing to quell the rift between Raphael and Leonardo. He had hoped that throughout their training and with age, it would lessen, but to his deep disappointment, it seemed to only grow with their adolescence and growth into young adulthood.

He looked from one son to the other, they each dropped their battered faces to the floor.

"I am _most_ disappointed –" His voice cut off. It hurt to speak. He felt the cut in his mouth and the swelling flesh with his tongue. His son should have controlled himself. Both of them were trained ninja, seven to eight hours a day training since they were barely walking and this was his result. Two boys who behave like unruly animals. A tremor of fury went through him. But who was to blame for this? If the student is a poor one, look to the teacher.

He felt the anger at his boys turn to disappointment in himself then morph into weariness that made his shoulders sag. It weighed on him and the well-known sense of melancholy dread threatened to overtake him. He needed the one who pulled him away from this temptation to fall into the all too familiar depression. The depression that he had struggled with ever since he'd been mutated into a rat all those years ago. The sunny disposition and warm attitude of his youngest. He looked up and glanced around, past his sons.

"Where is your brother?"

The unexpected question had the three of them looking at each other in blatant confusion. The cold fury fled from Donatello's face, replaced with the silent question aimed at Raph and Leo who returned the question without a word. Then as each realized who Master Splinter was referring to, one by one, all gazes turned towards Michelangelo's bedroom door.

* * *

The night had passed with Michelangelo doing his best to stop himself from shivering. He was so cold. The damp air seeped through the window and seemed to settle along his bare limbs and sink inside, chilling his very bones. He couldn't even wrap his arms around himself due to the spacer bar between the cuffs at this wrist. He could only keep his arms bent tightly against his sides, numb hands curled up under the sides of his cheeks. The metal of the collar chilled him further. He had squeezed as tightly as he could into the corner, hoping that maybe being as small as possible, his own body heat would somehow transfer to the stone wall and keep him warm. His knees were bent and his toes were curled tight, one foot over the other.

He had tried to pull on the chain keeping him secured to the wall by the collar around his throat. It gave him just enough room to lay down if he wanted to and reach the very edge of the mattress, but the collar would yank on his throat and make him gag if he went too far. In the middle of the night, sick and tired of being unable to even get comfortable enough to try to sleep, he had braced his feet against the wall for leverage. This was it. He was getting out of there. He had pulled and struggled in the darkness, first with one hand until it became raw and sore and then the other; gaining no progress only exhausting himself in the process. At one point he yanked so hard, his hand, slick with sweat and grime, slipped and he fell roughly onto his shell. The collar slammed into his neck and bottom of his jaw. Pain lanced upwards through his face and head. He choked and then burst into tears.

As the memory of his outburst of weakness flooded through his mind, shame filled him. With a sniff, he wiped the last remaining traces of his tears from his cheeks, smearing the dirt from his hand onto his face. As the morning's gray light of dawn filtered through the narrow window above him, he stared at the rough stone surface in front of his face; teeth chattering. He shifted his legs and felt the fullness of his bladder demanding relief. The feel of Malcolm's hands on him returned with a vengeance. He pinched his eyes closed. _No. I won't think about that_, he thought and trembled once. He unfolded his legs and shifted a little more hoping the change in position would help ease the pressure in his lower abdomen. It did not help. If anything, he only felt like he had to go even more.

"Great," he mumbled.

He turned his head and looked around. There was nothing he could use, he realized with sinking dread.

"I'll just hold it 'til they rescue me," he said aloud, taking some comfort from the sound of his own voice in the empty room. Besides the cold and the darkness, he felt the stillness like a mocking presence. He missed the activity of the lair. The voices of the actors playing out the drama of Master Splinter's stories on television. Splinter's chuckle at the absurdity of the escalating situations and his commentary over sips of his tea. He missed the sounds of Donatello working in his lab, the noise of the torches and mechanical sounds of cranks and gears being worked on. He missed Raphael's rough laughter and crude jokes; the sound of the punching bag taking on his brother's pent up aggression. He missed Leonardo's soft commanding voice as they moved through their morning practice session. The gentle encouragement he offered as Mikey messed up his form. Michelangelo's stomach suddenly growled loudly, making him jump.

"Geez," he said with a small huff of a laugh. "I'm starving."

He glanced around the room, again. The dim light was growing, illuminating the dreary room. His eyes drifting over the metal chains, the cuffs and the long horizontal bar hanging from the ceiling. The large bag behind the stairs where Malcolm had dropped it along with the hose. He wondered what it was for. His empty stomach rolled with renewed dread.

Unconsciously, both out of fear and hunger, he nibbled on the knuckle of one finger, sucking at the salty taste of his own digit. His mouth was dry and caked with the taste of old blood. He was thirsty, too, he realized and tried to remember how long Malcolm said he'd be gone. Then with a bolt of fright he recalled hearing something about people dying of thirst long before they'd die of hunger.

He moved out of the corner and sat on his knees. He tugged at the collar around his parched throat. He twisted and reached up to grip the chain connecting him to the wall. He wrapped his fingers around the cool metal and hissed a little in pain. His hand was raw. But he pushed past the pain and started to pull again.

He couldn't give up. He just couldn't. What would Raph think if he gave up after just being caught for a single day? Leonardo would be very disappointed. Donatello would say it only confirmed his suspicion of Mikey being the weakest of the four of them. He pulled harder, getting angry. A soft growl rose up out of him.

"I – am – not – the – weakest!" he grunted out between gritted teeth with each tug. Then he switched hands and tried again. The chain rattled and snapped with each pull, giving him no headway, only tearing into his raw burning palms.

* * *

"Mikey!" Donatello called and banged on the door. He glanced at his brother's faces in helplessness and heart pounding dread.

"You said he never came home last night," Leo said and wiped at his eye with a bloody rag.

Donatello nodded.

"What the fuck, Donnie?" Raphael's angry voice came from the other side of him. He spun around to face him.

"Excuse me?" Donatello snapped. "How exactly is this my fault?!"

"Why the hell didn't you say somethin'?!"

Leo pushed Donatello to one side and got into Raphael's face, "If you would've gone home with him this wouldn't have happened," he shouted and Raphael bristled.

His hands curled into fists and his growl rose up, menacingly.

"Enough!" Master Splinter shouted and pushed between them. He leaned back and with a swift push kick, knocked in Michelangelo's door.

The four of them stood at the threshold for a moment gazing in. They held their collective breath, each one hoping that this was an elaborate prank being pulled on them from the youngest, but knowing it was not the case. Just not wanting to believe that they could have somehow lost track of one of their own so easily for so long. The room was a mess of comics, spare pieces of gear and empty boxes of food. Master Splinter stepped into the room and gazed about. On the nightstand, the small cracked lamp was still on from the last time the boy had forgotten to switch it off before he left the room. Something that he was prone to doing. On his desk were several scattered pages of sketches and drawings. Master Splinter picked one up and looked at it. It was a rough sketch of the Brooklyn Bridge, rendered with loving detail that only Michelangelo was graced with being able to notice. The light from the setting sun caused the water beneath to sparkle and even the bridge itself seemed firm and strong, unrelenting in its purpose. Splinter set it back down and turned to his remaining sons. They exchanged looks for a moment and then burst into activity. Donatello ran from the room closely followed by Leonardo and Raphael. They called out to him as they scattered throughout the lair. Donnie ran into his room and stuck his head inside.

"Mikey?"

Raphael dashed through the lair to the garage, he pulled open the door and hollered, "Mikey!? Bro, you in here?"

Leonardo rushed into the dojo, "Michelangelo!"

A few minutes later they rushed back into the middle of the living room; eyes wild with barely concealed panic.

"When was the last time you saw him?"

Donatello shook his head. "I-It was after you hit Raph with the snowball, I just walked by him and continued home. I had no idea he wasn't coming along with you two."

Leonardo and Raphael exchanged looks. This was on them, then. Guilt stabbed Leonardo and Raphael's face dropped.

"I told 'em to get home . . . right before I followed you," he mumbled to the floor.

Leonardo clenched his jaw but held his tongue.

"Well, did you see anything before you chased after Leo?" Don asked. Raph shook his head.

"There were Foot soldiers," Leonardo said as Master Splinter came up to the three of them. Leonardo closed his eyes and opened them slowly going on, "Karai was tailing us from the junk yard." From the corner of his eye, he saw Donatello duck his head in regret, rubbing his arm. He noticed Raphael tense. "When I went back to . . . confront her, she had ordered them to back down."

"Wait a minute," Raph broke in. "You're telling me that you knew Karai and her goons were following us and didn't do nothin' or say nothin' that entire _time_?" His uninjured eye flashed as he frowned.

Master Splinter looked to Leonardo who looked like he had swallowed something bitter tasting. He nodded once. Splinter made a small intake of breath, frowning deeply.

"Why is that, Leonardo?"

"Yeah," Raphael barked. "Why _is_ that?" he repeated with a sharp shake of his head.

Leonardo stared at Raphael, saying nothing, breathing heavy. Raphael didn't know. His stomach roiled. Karai was playing them. Both of them. Yet that did not excuse Raphael from what he'd done. Leonardo was sure his brother knew he had some feelings for the kunoichi and still he'd been with her. Though Raphael had yet to admit it aloud.

"Leonardo! Answer!" Master Splinter said and Donatello and Raphael stared at him, waiting.

"I-I . . . I had hoped . . . t-to speak with her alone," he managed to stutter out. Beneath his bruises, his face reddened deeply.

Master Splinter, understanding immediately, made a disgusted noise and looked away. Leonardo dropped his head in shame. While Raphael continued staring at him uncomprehendingly. His bottom lip, hung open, bruised and still dripping blood onto his chest. Donatello's face bounced between the two of them and with a slowly growing horrified look on his face, the brainy turtle pieced together the heart of the problem. He dropped his head into his hands.

"You have to be kidding me," he muttered.

"What do ya mean, you hoped ta speak to her _alone_?" Raph asked, remembering Leo ordering him to go home.

An awful thought was taking root in the back of his mind regarding Leonardo and Karai. Suddenly he was hit with the reason why his brother was so pissed that he had attacked him for staying out all night. Did Leo still have a puppy-love crush on the kunoichi? That was years ago. He swallowed some of the blood still pooling in his mouth. The bitter taste of his own blood mixed with the sour feeling that he was being lied to. Was she giving Leo a reason to keep that fire burning? There was no way that Karai would waste her time with his boring, straight-laced brother. No fucking way. But it would explain Leonardo's explosion moments ago. It would explain the crazed look of hurt on his face when he was trying to hit him.

Donatello dropped his hand and hollered, "It doesn't matter right now! We have to go looking for Mikey." He turned and moved to fetch his bo.

Raphael stared at Leonardo as he dropped his gaze away. "He's right. It . . . It isn't important now."

"Answer me," Raphael growled and took a step towards Leonardo. The thought of Leo going after what was his suddenly made the earlier fury rise up again. This time blazing hotter than before now that he had fuel to feed it. But even in his haze of anger, he knew that Master Splinter could never know what he was doing with Karai. Just his reaction to Leo wanting time alone with her told him to keep it a secret no matter what. Still, he wanted answers from his supposedly angelic older brother. Mr. Perfect needed to explain a little clearer, "What are you doin' with Karai, behind our backs, huh, Fearless?"

Leonardo's face snapped up and he curled his cracked lip back to reveal an incisor. The nerve of his brother's statement infuriated him. But he knew it was just Raphael realizing he may finally have a real reason to be jealous of his older brother. But Leonardo wasn't up to taking the bait. His head was pounding and swimming. His heart was sinking and twisting at his father's wordless comment on his behavior, cutting him deeper than any of the wounds Raphael's fists had inflicted moments ago.

He growled and pushed his chest against Raphael, bringing his face an inch away from his brother's, "Back . . . off."

Master Splinter's shouted in Japanese as his cane came up from behind, cracking Leonardo hard against the back of his head. With a yelp, he fell away from Raphael. Wincing, he cowered and held his pounding head between two hands.

Splinter's face was darkened with fury. "Will you fight again with your brother over some worthless wretch while your younger brother is out there? Captured, alone and no doubt frightened?!" Splinter's cane slammed into the floor. "Enough of this! Enough! Find Michelangelo and bring him home before something terrible happens to him! Do you understand me! You are the leader of this clan!" His voice raised, the fear of his son being missing and probably being tortured made the tone brittle and strained. "It falls to you to protect them when you go above!"

He shook with fury and paced. The tip of his cane slamming into the floor with each step. Raphael clamped his mouth shut. He looked from Splinter to Leonardo whose posture was hunched with his chin lowered to his chest in shame. For the first time, he felt a pang of guilt. He knew how much Splinter's praise or disappointment affected him. He would have to talk with him about Karai. He would have to explain to him that she choose him and that was all there was to it. He had his chance before and blew it. But for now, Donatello was right, he had to get his head straight and find Mikey. He knew the first place to go investigating. Besides, Karai had better have some good answers to the questions he had for her about Leonardo.

Splinter had gone on and on finishing with, ". . . especially the most vulnerable of your brothers. And yet you allowed yourself to be distracted!" He turned and pointed his cane at Leonardo who cringed and closed his eyes. "I will hold you responsible for his well-being, Leonardo! Is that clear?"

Leonardo dropped his hands to his sides and bowed deeply. He choked out, "F-Forgive me, Sensei. I understand."

"We'll find 'em, Master Splinter," Raphael interrupted as he saw Master Splinter open his mouth to continue berating Leonardo. But the guy looked like he might start crying and Raphael was feeling the knot of guilt coiling in his gut. It wasn't pleasant. The guy was an overbearing ass but he didn't deserve to be made to squirm like this. It was making Raphael sick. Leonardo relied too much on the approval of their father. Not that Raphael didn't care at all, just . . . not as much as Leo did. Raphael dragged the back of one fist across his leaking lip. He growled out, "Let's go, Leo."

Leonardo bowed once more to Master Splinter and then followed Raphael out of the lair. Pensive and thoroughly abashed.

* * *

The hours passed and Mikey had given up fighting with the chain. He squirmed. The pressure in his bladder was growing and he was getting desperate. Finally, he climbed to stand and rocked back and forth, stepping from foot to foot, looking around frantically. Where could he go? Why didn't that creep leave me a bucket or something? Didn't he think turtles needed restrooms?

"Ah crap. Crap. Crapola." He shifted his feet and pinched his thighs together. His body burned with the need. He couldn't hold it another second. "Wheeeereeee can I goooo? Where oh where," Mikey sang under his breath. He rocked back and forth and did his best to ignore the call of nature. But it was impossible. Finally, unable to hold it and not wanting to go right where he was forced to sleep, he scrambled to the edge of the mattress. He went as far as the chain would let him and got as close to the wall as he could, hoping to make as little mess as possible. With one hand, he slid his finger over the pocket of flesh concealing his privates. With a roll of his abdominal muscles and a soft grunt, he pushed the tip of his penis through the slight opening and started to go. Dimly he thought he heard the sound of a car passing by but he was distracted with the immense relief he was feeling.

The creak of the stairs had him jump and look over his shoulder as much as he could with the collar making it nearly impossible to turn his head too far.

"What are you doing?" Malcolm asked as he stepped down the last few stairs. "What are you doing?" he repeated and limped further into the room.

Mikey flinched but couldn't stop the flow now that it started. The soldier was back! But he said he'd be gone for days. Didn't he? Mikey shook his head, if he'd known the guy was returning, he would have tried to hold it long enough to ask for a trip to the bathroom or something. Again, he was too weak and stupid. Here he was peeing on the wall of his cell like a freaking animal when he could've just asked for some help. He whimpered in shame and finished as quickly as he could. Embarrassment making his cheeks flush a deep pink.

"W-Well, what do you expect?!" he cried out as he moved backwards onto the mattress. "I thought you were going to be gone for _days_!" His voice cracked, "Y-You didn't leave me much choice!"

Malcolm stared at the stain on the wall and the puddle at the base. "You filthy . . ."

"I couldn't help it!" Mikey shouted, cheeks darkening, but getting angry. He wouldn't let this guy make him feel bad for doing something he couldn't control. "It's your fault for not leaving me a bucket or something!"

Malcolm was on him in a flash. The cattle prod scooped up from the floor and held in his fist.

"Fault! Fault?! My _fault_?!" Malcolm screamed and slammed Mikey's head against the wall as he tried to scramble back and away from the madman. He pressed Mikey back by his face, pinning him as he writhed and tried to get his legs out from under him and kick. "_Your_ fault. _Yours_!" Something hard was jammed between his legs. Mikey's eyes widened as he realized it was the cattle prod. Icy fear flashed through him with the remembered pain that device brought. If he hadn't just emptied his bladder a moment ago, he would've at that moment.

"N-No!" he cried, his voice muffled by Malcolm's hand pressed against it. He didn't want to feel that horrible pain ever again. He was instantly regretful of losing his temper. "Mmph, W-Wait! _Wait_!"

His hands gripped and pulled at Malcolm's uniform in a desperate attempt to push him away. But then his body jerked and went rigid as bolts of electricity raced up from his groin throughout his abdomen and down his legs. His head jerked backwards and he bit his tongue. His mouth flooded with blood. The terrible pain flared through his system; making his heart slam into his ribs and his mind blank with animal panic. Then he was down, panting for air with a squeezing chest and a heart beating too fast. He choked and gasped as he braced the weight of his body on his shoulder and side of his head. His legs felt like jelly and would not stop quivering.

"Uh, ungh," he panted. Blinking back the tears, he tried to focus his vision as his eyes rolled. Dimly he tried to get his bearings, swallowing the blood into his churning stomach. Malcolm's face appeared in front of his and huffing in terror between clenched teeth he did his best to lurch away. But Malcolm held the back of his head in a firm grip and pushed his face back down into the plastic covered mattress. Mikey whimpered as he braced himself for another round of pain.

"Not _my_ fault you filthy pig. Do you hear me? You . . . not me . . . are a filthy, filthy _pig_."

He slapped Mikey hard across the face, making him flinch and then was gone. Panting, Mikey gave himself a moment to gather his strength, then struggled and managed to sit up in time to see Malcolm dragging the large metal bin out from under the bottom of the stairs. He dragged it out further with one hand, the other still wrapped around the wretched cattle prod, and then satisfied with the position of the tub, he nodded to himself. He walked around it and it seemed as though Malcolm was limping or walking stiffly as if he were in pain. He gathered up the hose then crouched behind the stairs, muttering to himself still about fault and pigs. Then Mikey heard the squeak of a facet and Malcolm put the end of the hose into the tub.

"I-I th-thought you weren't coming b-back," Mikey tried to explain as a tear trickled down his face, but then fell silent feeling like he shouldn't try to explain his actions to this monster or hope for some kind of understanding or forgiveness. His brothers would be so disappointed in him. Raph would be swearing at this guy and would have not let him ever, ever stick his finger into . . . Mikey closed his eyes and reminded himself not to think about that. To _never_ think about that. He refocused on what his brothers would do or how they would act if they were in his place. Leonardo would be calm and stoic. Brave. Donatello would have already escaped last night, having figured out how to unlink the chain with his mind powers or something.

Across the room, Malcolm stared down at the water and said, "I won't touch a filthy pig like you. I won't. Going to clean you up first. Scrub the filth from you." He grew quiet, then said in a low voice, "I'm doing this because I love you, you know. If I didn't," he glanced again at the puddle. "I would've killed you for that mess."

_That's a little harsh,_ Mikey thought but dared not speak. He slowly ducked his pounding head closer to his chest and pulled backwards towards the corner. The chain rattled softly as he did and Mikey flinched, not wanting to attract any attention. This guy was seriously crazy. He had to be more careful with losing his temper or saying anything to set him off.

Setting the hose into the tub, Malcolm reached behind and pulled a set of keys out from a pouch on his belt. He crossed the room in his strange limping gait and approached Mikey who flinched and fell back, trembling and expecting another attack. His glassy eyes were locked on the cattle prod. His mind panicked. He brought his hands up to block with his forearm.

"No! Don't!" he cried as Malcolm reached behind his head and knocked him forward. Mikey heard the jangle of keys and then he pitched forward as the collar fell from his neck. He stayed on his hands and knees for a moment, shocked at his sudden, unexpected advantage. He jumped up, wasting no time and threw a side kick at Malcolm. The blow connected and Malcolm fell back onto his bottom with a shocked shout of pain.

Mikey debated attacking him more or making a break for it. Part of him wanted to beat the guy senseless for what he'd done to him, but most of him just wanted to get home. Home! That settled it. He decided to run while he had the opportunity.

He bolted from the mattress and made a wild dash for the stairs. His wrists still bound, but legs free, knowing he was fast, faster than any of his brothers, he really thought he had a chance. But as he reached the bottom of the steps he was tackled from behind. He flew forward and slammed painfully into the stairs; grunting as the wind was knocked from him. He felt Malcolm fumble with him and he kicked desperately, wildly behind him with his heels. Malcolm took a blow and blocked another.

Mikey growled and screamed in frustration as he clambered up onto his knees and managed to gain a few more stairs before he was knocked back down and dragged to the cement floor below. He spun around and kicked furiously with everything he had. He slammed his heel into Malcolm's chin and cried out in triumph as he again rolled around and made a mad dash for the stairs. He felt Malcolm's hands grabbing at his legs and he cried out in fright. He fell forward again and started to scramble up the steps on his knees, banging his elbows and legs against the wooden steps. But he felt Malcolm's arms go around his thighs. His chin hit the edge of the stair and stars exploded across his eyes.

"Lemme go! Let go!" Mikey screamed in frustration. He was so close to freedom. So close! He could see the light seeping in between the double doors at the top of the stairs, only feet away from where he strained against his attacker. He growled as fiercely as possible. But even to his desperate mind it sounded weak and ineffectual. Pathetic.

He felt Malcolm let go with one arm and suddenly felt his fist go under him. His struggling body tensed as Malcolm's hand wrapped around Mikey's tail where it was tucked in fright between his legs. His fingers tightened and Malcolm twisted it around his fist and yanked it back with a fierce, sharp jerk. Pain lanced up through Mikey's spine as his body went rigid and his head was thrown back; mouth open in a silent shriek of pain. The clear sound of several bones snapping filled the air.

Mikey's breath hitched. He screamed.

_ "Aaahaaaaaannngh!"_

His shuddering body immediately sagged against the stairs and his eyes rolled up into his head.

* * *

**A/N: Your reviews keep me pumped! Keep 'em coming! xo**

I write the guys as having very sensitive tails. Very, very sensitive - as that is where all the nerve endings of their spinal column meet. So not only for sensual purposes, the tail is an important little nuance to the guys in my stories. It is kept tucked closely to them when in battle to protect them from harm. Think of it like men and their, uhm, well, you know. That sensitive place that is often the target of misfired footballs.

I will update again, asap. But NaNoWriMo calls! xo


	6. Devoured

"I love you so, I love you so, I love you so.

Please don't go.

I'll eat you whole.

I love you so, I love you so, I love you so.

Please don't go.

I'll eat you whole." –_Breezeblocks_, Alt-J

* * *

**Chapter 6 – Devoured**

* * *

Malcolm fell on top of Mikey's shell, panting. He caught his breath; licking his lips. He rested his cheek against the grooved surface of Michelangelo's carapace. Malcolm's bottom lip puckered and he sniffled. He blinked slowly and rubbed his cheek along the rough surface of Michelangelo's shell. His chin throbbed where Mikey's heel had caught him, but it was nothing. Nothing. The pain in his back from the whipping he endured yesterday lanced across him in tight, sharp waves of pain, but it was nothing. Nothing.

"He almost got away," Malcolm said and pinched his eyes closed with a shudder. Now _that_ hurt. A lot. Emotions tangled and confused washed through him and knotted in his churning stomach. He was angry with Mikey; for getting him punished; for staining the room with his filth and for trying to run away. He didn't want to mark Mikey up more than he had to, but if he continued to fight like this . . . what choice would he have? But he was also sad that Mikey had tried so hard to get away. What had he done to deserve this from his love? Michelangelo took the first chance he got and tried to escape from him. "Why would you do that?" he asked in a wounded voice and raised his head. "_Why?!"_ he snarled and slammed both hands onto Michelangelo's shell.

The earlier anger surfaced. It was not right that the turtle was using the wall as a bathroom. He would have to clean that and the idea made him sick. Revulsion washed through him. He ground his teeth and cast his eyes around the room. He had work to do. No time to waste being angry. Getting his breathing under control he rolled his shoulders back. One thing at a time. It was Mikey's fault that he'd been punished by the _whore_, Karai. Mikey had to make that up to him. Malcolm had a few ideas how he could do that. But first he needed to clean the filth from Mikey's body before he allowed the young turtle to do so.

He pushed off the unconscious mutant. With a grunt, he reached around Michelangelo's body and wrapped his arms around his middle, sliding him back and down the stairs. He was heavy but there was a pleasantness to his bulk and Malcolm found himself growing more and more aroused as he struggled with Michelangelo's body. He groaned and lifted Mikey's body to the edge of the basin then strained and heaved him up and into the water. Mikey slid down and his head immediately went under. Bubbles rose up out of Mikey's partially opened mouth. Malcolm scrambled in a moment of panic as he pulled at the sides of the turtle's head, yanking and dragging until his face emerged from the water. He reached down and tucked his hands under Michelangelo's armpits and hoisted him higher. Mikey's right arm flopped over the edge of the basin, keeping him upright.

Satisfied that Mikey would not slip down again and inadvertently drown, Malcolm retrieved the duffle bag he had left at the bottom of the stairs the other day. He unzipped the main compartment and rummaged around; pulling out a scrub brush and several folded towels, he set them aside near the basin. Then he found a large bottle of mineral oil and placed that next to the towels.

He stood up and crossed the room behind Mikey to the table up against the wall. He unzipped a wide side-pocket and from that he pulled out a zip-lock bag of syringes, that he held the tip of in his mouth as he rummaged around for the other items. He pulled out some thin rubber tubing and a small shoe box filled with vials and pill containers setting all these on the long table with the syringes. Though drug use was punishable by death in the Foot Clan, its use was rampant among the ranks. Various types of popular club drugs circulated through the bunkers and exchanges could be made at any time for any need. Even Malcolm, with his limited interaction with his peers was able to get everything he needed with ease.

From the shoe box, he pulled a wide container out, labeled: Gamma hydroxybutyrate. He shook it and peered at the white powder within the plastic container. He glanced at Mikey to see if he was still out and then set it on the long table. That would be for later. He chewed on his bottom lip, considering what to do first. When he really thought about it, he should have given him the GHB before he left, that way he would've been too drowsy to even think about running. Malcolm shook his head.

"Live and learn," he said with a sigh and a shrug. Now he knew what he needed to do. "People teach you how to treat them," he said with a nod, agreeing with himself. Mikey wouldn't run again. Never again. He froze and tilted his head up to one angle, thinking hard. "And if I have to, I could take one of his feet off," he decided. Then he started to hum.

He reached into the duffle bag again and pulled out a small Tupperware bowl. He moved a few pill containers around with one finger until he found the one he was looking for.

"There you are," he muttered. With a dazed smile on his face, he lifted out the container labeled simply 'E'. He knew it was powerful, so he carefully shook out only one into the bowl. Then after a second thought, dropped another into the bowl, just to be safe. He cast around and found the cattle prod on the ground near the mattress. He retrieved it and used the end to crush the pills into a fine powder. The tune he was humming grew louder and he began to sing some of the lyrics, _"Dream lover, where are you . . ."_ When he was done grinding the pills into a powder, he moved to the tub where Mikey sat and scooped a little water into the crushed powder, swirling it as he stared at the contours of Mikey's face with a tilted head.

He stopped singing. "You're so beautiful," he murmured.

Then he went back to humming as he took the plastic tubing and approached Mikey once again. He wrapped it around Mikey's bicep, just above his elbow. Malcolm slowly ran his fingertips up and down the toned curves of Michelangelo's arm. His skin was smooth, almost silky, and his muscles were firm. Malcolm swallowed as he imagined Michelangelo wrapping those strong arms around him in a loving embrace. He shivered. Hurrying back to the table, with hands that trembled, he filled one syringe entirely with the mixture. He knelt next to Michelangelo's arm and prodded a vein or two before finding one that was thick and just begging to be penetrated. Malcolm's eyes focused carefully and the tip of his tongue ran along the top ridge of his teeth as he slowly jabbed the needle into Mikey's vein. Mikey made a soft sound from between his closed lips and his arm jumped a little but Malcolm held him firmly.

"Hold still," he said softly, "otherwise you'll bruise. And we don't want that. No, we don't."

He pushed the plunger down, draining all of the drug mixture into Mikey's vein. He slid the needle out and watched the pearl of blood form at the injection site. He leaned in and his eyelids fluttered shut as his tongue lapped at the blood, once. Then again.

"You taste sweet," he said with a dreamy look on his face. His thoughts wandered to what else might be sweet to taste. "Oops," he said and abruptly stood up. "First things, first, Malcolm," he chided himself and chuckled. He tossed the empty syringe onto the table. He walked around the basin and stooped to grab the scrub brush. He started to scrub Mikey as his humming once again turned to Bobby Darin's lyrics.

. . .

The first thing Mikey knew was that someone was singing. It was a quiet sound. Like the person singing didn't want to wake him. That was nice. Mikey frowned. His heart was beating very fast and he felt odd; bouncy; giddy; dizzy. A soft chuckle came through his nose with his exhale. He felt silly. His mouth pulled up into a smile. He started to hum along with the song as his mind tried to identify the sound of the person's voice. Who was it? It didn't fit with any of his brothers and it was certainly not Master Splinter. Then he became aware that his teeth were chattering; his jaw was sore from it. He cracked his eyes open and was met with gray light and the white puff of his breath in front of his snout.

"Wh-Where?"

The voice stopped singing just as Mikey's hazy mind realized who it belonged to. The . . . mean . . . bad-finger guy! The memories flooded back in a clouded rush of frightening images and Mikey tensed and jumped in panic. His head swam and he felt like he was tipping out of the basin. The icy water splashed around him. When the water moved across his skin it felt like a thousand tiny fingers tickling him. The sensation was so strong, he could barely take it. His face darted around. The movement was too fast and he suddenly felt ill, like he might vomit. His eyes rolled. He didn't feel good. His stomach was flipping and churning in a sickening way. And his heart would not stop galloping like he was in the middle of running a marathon.

Malcolm's warm hand pushed against his upper chest near his clavicle and shoved him back down. Mikey felt the touch as though it went through him, into him, into his bones. He let out a small gasp.

"Almost done," he said.

Mikey slid, unable to keep himself still in the tickling water, his tail bumped against his heel. He winced as sharp shooting pains shot up through his bottom and lower back. His stomach rolled again and he regretted trying to get up so fast.

"Oh _shit_," he slurred and with his free hand he covered his mouth. He knew he was in trouble but that seemed far away in his mind. Almost as if it were someone else in trouble and not him. Mikey dimly knew he should be afraid, but . . . he couldn't understand why. He looked up at the man that was smiling at him. Something told him to be afraid of this person, but instead of fear, he felt a strange sort of connection with him. A feeling like this guy was not going to hurt him. No one would hurt him. He needed to relax. Confusion muddled his mind. It was a cloudy haze of befuddled thoughts. What was wrong with him? But the worry evaporated into the foggy depths of his mind. Everything was fine. He felt too good right now to be afraid. Too giddy. The water kept tickling him and aside from the cold and his tail hurting so much, it was all good. A lazy smile spread across Mikey's face as the nausea eased back. He made to move and winced as pain shot through him.

"You . . . broke my tail, dude," he said with a half-hearted giggle.

At that, Malcolm laughed. "I think you're right."

Mikey felt another giggle bubble up from between his lips. Everything seemed funny. Funnier than usual. "Th-that sucks. Why'd ya do that?" He didn't get an answer and he shrugged. His right arm felt heavy and numb. He moved his shoulder and blinked as he tried to understand what was wrapped around his arm. "Why . . . am I all wrapped up?" Mikey asked, chuckling; his head dipped back too far and it took a lot of effort to right it.

He heard Malcolm huff a soft laugh, "Sorry. Forgot about that."

His voice seemed to come from all around him, surrounding him as it bounced and lapped around the room. Mikey's eyes roved the floor and the ceiling, he could almost see the words Malcolm had spoken if he looked hard enough. He wondered what words would look like, floating in the air. Maybe like a comic book, in little word bubbles. He chuckled again. "It would be cool to see my name up there," he babbled and pointed up in the general direction of the ceiling. "Words are nice," he mumbled. Donnie would know how to make that happen. He was good with making up stuff. Cool stuff. He would have to remember to ask his brainy brother when he saw him next if he could make him a word bubble maker.

Malcolm was suddenly next to him. He took Michelangelo's arm in his hands and pulled on the knot and undid the rubber tubing. Michelangelo looked up at him, a wide grin on his face. He said slowly, extending the first word, "Thaaank you." Then, when his arm was free, he scrunched up his snout as he brought his hand up in front of his face and peered at it. His tingling fingers opened and closed. "'M all numb," he muttered slowly to himself.

"How are you feeling?" Malcolm asked him.

The room beyond was dancing and bouncing in a very unpleasant way. The lights were swirling in a pattern that made his head hurt but he kept glancing at them, unable to break from their hypnotic movements for too long.

"I'm feelin' . . . pretty good," he nodded as he spoke and watched the room bounce along with the movement. But his teeth started to chatter again and he shivered suddenly becoming aware of how cold he was. "Can I . . . get out?"

Malcolm moved around and stood at the end of the basin near Mikey's feet, a towel slung over his bent arm and a bottle of something in his other hand. "Yes, you may," Malcolm said with a delighted smile.

Mikey braced his hands on either side of the tub and immediately as he stood up he pitched to one side and fell out of the basin onto the floor in a heap with a shout of surprise. Malcolm was next to him in a flash, covering him with the towel and helping him sit up.

"Are you okay?"

"Whoa," Mikey shook his head and closed his eyes. "Whoa," he repeated.

Everything felt upside down and topsy-turvy. What was wrong with him? His body was trembling hard but he wasn't sure why. He was cold but the towel was warm. Malcolm was warm. Without meaning to, he leaned into him seeking the warmth; snuggling closer to the man. Malcolm hugged him tightly and kissed the top of his head. The action made a pang of homesickness wash over Mikey then. A sigh slipped through his lips. He missed his brothers, he missed his father. When he was little and had a cold, Master Splinter would bundle him up and hold him like this. He wanted Master Splinter. He let out another long, sad sigh.

"Something wrong?"

"My tail hurts a lot," Mikey answered honestly in a sleepy voice and blinked lazily. He'd become very tired all of a sudden. As if getting out of the tickling water had drained him of all his strength. The image of his room popped into his head; his comfy bed. His voice was soft as he pleaded, "I really want to go home, now . . . please."

Malcolm sounded hurt, "But . . . _why_?"

"I'm . . . really tired. And I feel . . . funny," he giggled but there was nothing to even laugh about. He missed his home. His brothers. Sadness pulled at him. "Can I . . . _please_? Y-You're not really a bad guy, right?"

In a perpetually patient voice, Malcolm said, "You know I'm not. I told you, I'm going to take care of you. You belong with me now."

Malcolm helped him up and Mikey shook his head sadly. He stumbled forward; his legs seemed to not remember how to walk correctly.

"Are you taking me home, now?" Mikey asked innocently with hopefully eyes, glassy and wide.

Malcolm nodded. "Yes, my love. You are home."

Mikey frowned but then Malcolm was moving him across the room and it was hard to think and move at the same time. Mikey leaned heavily against him as the man helped him down onto the plastic covered mattress. At the sight of it, a thrill of panic ran through him, his hands went out to brace himself and a puff of frantic breath escaped from him. But Malcolm eased him down by pulling on his wrists. Mikey went down like a wet sack.

The feeling he'd just had was important, Mikey knew that, but it raced away, slippery and too quickly for Mikey to understand why he needed to clutch and hold on to that feeling of fright. From far away, something was trying to warn him of danger, but it was too far away to be clear. And he was so tired. He felt anxious and exhausted all at once, like the two emotions were battling in his trembling body. His head felt heavy and like it wanted to roll off his shoulders while his heart was hammering and making him feel nauseous and giddy. Mikey rested his cheek in the crook of his arm. He really wished the room would stop spinning.

He felt the mattress shift as Malcolm knelt next to him. A bolt of fear raced through him. Part of his mind told him he needed to get up and fight this guy. But he felt too sleepy to fight. Why did he have to fight everyone all the time? Why couldn't people just be nice? Nice was . . . _nice_. He just wanted to close his eyes now. The pull of slumber was too strong to ignore.

He turned his head and opened his mouth to say he wanted to be left alone when Malcolm started to hum again. Mikey jumped as he felt something cold touch the back of one thigh. But then Malcolm's warm hand was rubbing the moisture into his thigh and across and down his legs; warming his frigid skin. It felt good. Really good. The best thing ever. He was beginning to relax again when he felt Malcolm gently grip his injured tail and run the length of it through his fist. The sensation was both pleasant and extremely painful.

"Ah!" Mikey cried softly, then louder said, "N-No!"

"What's the matter?"

"M-My tail . . . it hurts. Y-You h-hurt me."

Malcolm let the piece of Mikey's body fall limply between his legs. It was bruised looking and was definitely swollen despite the long soak in the frigid water. This would be a problem. Mikey was struggling to get up when Malcolm placed his hands on Mikey's shell, pressing him back down with little effort.

"L-Lemme get up," Mikey stuttered. The fear was taking root. His hazy mind began to focus through the cloud of exhaustion, but the edges of his vision kept blurring no matter how many times he blinked and tried to clear it. The room was spinning but the walls seemed to be coming closer, the ceiling covered in swinging chains was creeping slowly downward to crush him. He cringed back, whimpering.

"Relax, Mikey. Do you need some more?"

"M-More?" The bed beneath his cheek was wet. He frowned then realized it was from him drooling.

"Are you still sleepy?"

Mikey nodded; eyes closed; cheek pressed against the plastic. If he closed his eyes, the room didn't seem so scary anymore. And he was so tired. He just wanted to go to sleep now. He felt the mattress tip and heard the sound of clothes being rustled. He raised his brow up to help his eye crack open.

"I . . . wa-nna go home . . . Wa-Wh-Whadare you doin'?" he slurred.

From the corner of his eye he thought he saw Malcolm standing naked next to him. He pinched his eyes shut and choked out a nervous chuckle. He was seeing things now. And yet, something felt off. He sensed the change before he actually knew what was happening. It was as though the air had shifted and Michelangelo felt the slick threat hanging; suspended over him. A tremor went through him as the silence of the room fell like ash settling on him. Coating him. Afraid of what he may see, but forcing himself to look anyway, he carefully opened his eyes again just as Malcolm fell on him.

* * *

**A/N:** Evil cliffieeeeee


	7. The Hidden Things The Ugly Things

**A/N:** Be forewarned. I do not pull my punches. And this is sure to be a punch in the gut. If you do not want to be taken on this ride, there is the exit; right before you. I do not force you to attend this story nor do I wish to fool you into thinking this is something that its not. I write realistically and aim for truth in all its gritty, grim and uncomfortable honesty.

For those of you who want nothing more than the thrill of fiction, the mad rush of a tale of terror and horror?

I will waste no more of your time and get the hell out of your way . . .

* * *

**Chapter 7 – The Hidden Things. The Ugly Things.**

* * *

His eyes went wide as Malcolm grabbed him by the shoulders and pinned him roughly to the mattress. Mikey grunted and struggled. Using his elbows, he tried to knock Malcolm off him, but Malcolm shoved him down and held him in place. The spinning intensified and Mikey fell still, pinching his eyes closed as his heart hammered and his teeth chattered. He made a small frightened noise and Malcolm shushed him.

"Shhh, don't fight, my love," Malcolm's voice was a warm breath on the back of his neck and side of his face. "I've waited so long for this moment."

Every part of him quivered with awareness. The feel of Malcolm's hands on his shoulders, his bare flesh pressed against his carapace, even, was acute and almost too much to withstand. Every brush against his shell was like sandpaper being worked against his bones, making him grind his teeth. Panic, bright and sharp, swept through him as he felt Malcolm wedge his knee between his legs, forcing them apart. He felt Malcolm's weight on his shell shifting. The hot flesh of his hairy thighs against his hairless legs.

"Unf! Get . . . Get offa me!" Mikey yelled, the exhaustion was pushed aside as fright took its place.

A warning growl meant to intimidate and scare the man rumbled from his chest.

Malcolm paused for a moment, then _laughed_ at him; the sound of it, taunting and amused. He jumped as he felt Malcolm kiss the back of his head. His laughter stung Mikey, making him feel even more afraid and small, somehow. He tried to growl again, but choked instead, finding he was too breathless to make the threatening sound, that and Mikey was feeling anything but threatening at the moment. He swallowed dryly and frowned. The walls were wobbling and jumping in a weird sort of dance that added to Michelangelo's confusion and fear.

He didn't know what was happening, but instinct told him he was in terrible trouble. Instinct understood what was happening and an unknown terror gripped him. Malcolm was going to do something bad to him. The thing that was never talked about. The hidden, secret thing that made people shift and swallow, not looking into the camera any longer on the shows he'd snuck and watched out of morbid curiosity, the people, no, the _victims_, not wanting to talk about it. The thing that Splinter didn't want him to know about. All the scary things his father and brothers had tried to keep from him. The ugly things.

The pounding in his head increased, matching the hammering of his panicked heart. Malcolm bumped into his injured tail sending waves of electric pain through him. Mikey gave a strangled cry.

"Ow! _Ohho_," he cried his misery into the mattress. He drew a ragged breath and screamed, "Get off _me_! Let me _go_!"

Malcolm wrapped his arm under Mikey's and his hand moved up around his mouth, covering it. "Sh-hhh," Malcolm shushed him; spittle laced Mikey's cheek. Michelangelo snapped at his grasping fingers, snagging one and biting down hard on it. Breaking the skin as he growled. Malcolm hissed and pulled his hand away. He reared back and brought his elbow down, crashing against the corner of Mikey's left eye. He yelped and cringed in pain.

"Don't try to bite me again," Malcolm ground out, shoving his face hard into the mattress and holding it there with one hand. He pressed down and Mikey squirmed as the tendrils of hot blood from Malcolm's bitten finger trailed down the side of his cheek. "Understand _me_?"

Mikey shook his head desperately, _"Fuck you!"_ his muffled screamed came from between his mashed cheeks.

"Yes. Yes, you will. My love. My pet," Malcolm purred into Mikey's ear and Mikey flinched and to his deep shame, tears slid free from his clenched eyes.

Malcolm released his head and wrapped his arm under Mikey's armpit once again, but this time he took hold of Michelangelo's throat. Mikey bucked and shook his shoulders; trying to knock the lunatic off of him; he tried to climb onto his hands and knees but his hands kept sliding on the plastic and the dizziness was making it hard to know which way was up. Malcolm tightened his grip around Mikey's throat, squeezing until Mikey was straining to breathe. His head dropped and his body trembled and Malcolm eased his hold as Mikey unwillingly submitted; panting and wheezing into the mattress. He was holding Mikey down with his upper body and his other hand gripped Mikey's right shoulder, keeping it firmly still.

"I told you not to struggle. I don't want this to be an ugly thing, my pet." He felt Malcolm rub his cheek along the side of his head. "Making love with the one your heart belongs to should never be an ugly thing." Mikey shuddered in revulsion as Malcolm dragged his tongue against the back and side of his sweat-soaked neck.

"You taste delicious, lover."

At that, Mikey lost the battle to keep calm. Panic took him under.

"N-No! _No!_ H-Help! Help me!" he yelled. "S-Someone help!"

A part of his frantic mind prayed that someone would be passing by and would hear him. Someone _had_ to hear him through that window and would come to his aid if he hollered hard enough. He gasped and screamed as loud as he could, then again. Malcolm's laughter rained down on him making his terror double.

"Who's going to save you?" Malcolm asked between his chuckling.

Blind with wild panic and fright, reaching out from the depths of his heart to plea for his brave, bold older brother to save him. Leonardo would save him. Leonardo wouldn't let anything bad happen to him.

_"Help! L-Leo! Help! Leo! Leo-oo! H-Help me!"_

Malcolm snarled upon hearing his desperate cries for his brother. He reared back and punched the side of his head. Mikey's body jumped with the impact. But still he cried out for his brother to come save him.

_"Leooo! Leoooo!"_

"Calling for your _brother_? You want him here instead of me, huh? Is that what you do with them? You little whore?! I knew it! I _knew it!"_

Malcolm struck him again and again until Mikey's hoarse voice stopped calling for Leonardo. His throbbing head fell limply against the plastic, his clawing fingers curled into shaking, loose fists. Blood pooled from his gaping mouth. Tears spilled down his face. The room spun around him. Around and around and side to side like a rocking boat. He thought he was going to vomit. He suddenly felt something blunt prodding at him between his legs. His body tensed. Icy waves of renewed terror crashed through him.

This wasn't happening. This couldn't be happening. He was ninja. He was a warrior. He never hurt anyone that didn't try to hurt him first. He never did anything bad. A few pranks but he never meant to do anything bad. Was he being punished? Was that the reason this was happening?

_I will never, ever pull another prank_, he swore desperately in his mind to anyone who might be listening. He pleaded for forgiveness, for mercy, for rescue. He shook his head more forcibly this time, his heart slamming a thundering rhythm of fright in his ears, his lips sliding through the thick pool of blood just beneath them. Raph would not let this happen if he were here. He would fight this guy off. He would not allow this to happen. What would Raphael think of him if this happened?

Mikey's clouded mind stumbled as it raced . . . what could he do? He wasn't strong like Raphael. With a strained effort, he tried to curl up his broken tail to block his entrance. If it wasn't broken and throbbing with pain, it would have been held tightly up over his opening, securely between his bottom's cheeks. But the bones were snapped and it hurt just to try and move it over a little. He managed, but it cost him. He let out an agonized moan. All his effort did little good. It only made things worse.

Malcolm continued to prod at him and when his tail finally moved into the way, he heard Malcolm curse under his breath. Then he felt Malcolm's right hand slid down from off his shoulder. Mikey's body froze and went rigid. _Oh no!_

"W-Wait, p-please!" Mikey begged from between his swollen, bleeding lips. "N-No!"

But the man ignored his pleas. He might as well have been begging the stones around him for all the good it did. Malcolm wrapped his fingers around the aching appendage and yanked it cruelly to the side and out of his way. A broken shriek erupted from Mikey's mouth. His entire body tightened up and thrummed with furious quivering. Agony shot up and down his spine. But it was nothing compared to what happened next.

A bolt of cramping pain slammed through him as Malcolm penetrated his entrance. Slowly spreading him open and then forcibly sliding into him until Malcolm's hips ground into his bottom and sore tail. All the breath squeezed out of his collapsed lungs; his watering eyes clamped shut; his mouth pulled back into a snarl of silent anguish; baring his fangs completely.

There was a moment where no one moved. Suspended in time like a nightmare looming about during the day; they paused; bodies connected in a mockery of what others shared as physical love between two consenting lovers. Then Malcolm, luxuriating in his pleasure, eyes rolled up to the ceiling in lustful joy, began to thrust himself into Mikey. Over and over. In and out, hard and in a steady rhythm.

"Yes! Oh, yes! Ah! My . . . _pet_! You're . . . _mine_! Ugh! At . . . _last_!" Malcolm shouted between groans.

Mikey was pinned, immobilized, in his agony. His toes dug at the mattress while his fingers clawed uselessly as he whimpered and groaned in pain, choking on his shame. Malcolm's breath came heavy and shallow across his cheek. Mikey curled his hands into fists and pressed them into his eyes, hard. He shuddered. His stomach roiled and he tasted bile.

"_Ngh, ngh, ungh._ S-Stop. Please, y-you're h-hurting m-me," Mikey pleaded, his voice muffled by the mattress. Humiliation smothered him. Pain like nothing else he'd ever felt splintered through his lower body. He wanted to die. More than anything, he wanted Malcolm to strangle the life from him and end this nightmare. "Pl-ea-ease, _ungh_. It, _urk, ungh_, hurts."

"_Uh! Unh!_ Yes, Mikey, Yes. Mine. You're mine. _UH!_ Oh, it only _uh, uh,_ hurts at first," he panted. "You'll see, sweet, sweet, sweeeet one, _unnngh_! You'll love this soon, _uh_, enough!"

"No-o," Mikey cried and a sob choked him.

He felt Malcolm's hand sliding up and down his arm, along the tender flesh between his plastron and his shell. His movements became more and more urgent as he slammed faster and faster into Mikey until his entire body was jolted forward and backward from the force of it. Mikey's mind was a blank blaze of fright and agony, shame and disgust.

Suddenly Malcolm gave a strangled cry and Mikey felt his burning body flood with something hot. Mikey choked and cried out in revulsion as Malcolm emptied himself fully inside him. Malcolm's hips bucked once, then once more before he collapsed on Mikey's shell. Michelangelo pressed his face deeper into the mattress, trying to escape from what was happening to him. If he could've drawn himself into his shell, if he had the ability of his natural, primitive cousins, then he would've done so. More than anything he wanted to curl up and die.

He quaked as he felt Malcolm's mouth press against the back of his head. Then he felt the weight of the man lifted from him. He heard the sound of clothing rustling. By inches, Mikey raised his head up. Vision blurred with tears, he blinked to try and clear it. But more welled up only blinding him again.

A trio of voices, sounding very much like Don, Leo and Raph, screamed in his mind, _Get up! Get up! This is your chance to escape! Don't just lay there like a pussy! You didn't fight him off, at least take the chance to run! Get up! _But he couldn't move. His bottom hurt so much. Humiliation and shame laid upon him like cinder blocks; weighing him down, making it hard to breathe and impossible to move.

As the room came into focus, Malcolm knelt before his face. With one hand he gripped Mikey's cheeks and squeezed, then with his other he dumped something powdery into his mouth. Mikey recoiled and coughed, choking.

"Mmpf, mmmno!" he cried and scrambled backwards until his shell hit the wall. He rolled up into a fetal position, tucking his head in the crook between his shoulder and the mattress. His tongue tried to push the cakey material it from his mouth, but his saliva had already dissolved it. The chalky taste flooded his senses. The room spun behind Malcolm.

"Just give it a minute or two, you'll feel much better in a minute," Malcolm's voice sounded hollow and distorted. Mikey was having trouble keeping his eyes open and focused. They kept rolling around along with the twirling lights above him. Rolling and dancing. His head grew heavier and heavier. Mikey's pupils dilated as he stared into nothingness and his fevered, panicked mind settled into empty numbness.

Malcolm stooped and picked up his shirt. He pulled it on over his pants, then stood over Mikey, considering him.

"That was really nice. Oh, Mikey. You're going to only get better at this. I promise. You cost me a lot," he said and tilted his head to the right and left, cracking the bones in his neck. "But you were worth it. Every chance I took, every lash from that whip. You were worth it all," he said with his chest filling with love.

He reached up and pulled a chain down from the wall at the head of the mattress. The links clanged as they slid through the larger 'O' ring. He dug out the collar from the side of the mattress and the wall near the head of the bed where it had lodged as he was taking the young mutant. He snapped the clip connected to the chain onto the collar. Malcolm eased Mikey's body to his side. Michelangelo made no move to fight him or help. He was limp and heavy in his arms. Malcolm stopped for a moment, using his thumb, he lifted one of the turtle's eyelids and peered at the dazed eye beneath it.

"Hm, hopefully, I didn't give you too much," he muttered with a frown. In all his planning, he hadn't considered the chance that the drugs he'd decided to use might have an adverse reaction with their mutated bodies. He'd have to track down one of the soldiers in research and development and carefully ask a few questions so he didn't accidentally give his dear one an overdose. He brought his mouth to Mikey's bloody lips. He knelt, kissing him deeply, working his tongue into Mikey's mouth, tasting the blood and spit and the remnants of the GHB. Mikey's eyelids fluttered and he made a soft whimper. Malcolm finally pulled back and licked at Mikey's blood smeared across his mouth. He smiled.

"I know. It's wonderful, isn't it?"

With tender care, he placed the metal collar around Mikey's throat; locking it into place. He bent closer and gave Mikey another slow, deep kiss. Mikey's eyes fluttered closed. A soft frown puckered his brows. His fingers fumbled slowly at the plastic beneath him. Malcolm's tongue plundered Mikey's mouth; lapping and tasting the mix of blood and tears.

"Oh, I do want to stay," Malcolm whispered.

He pulled back and stroked Mikey's cheek. The young turtle's eyes roamed the ceiling and rolled back. The drugs were fast acting just as he knew they would be. He wasn't sure if Mikey could hear him at this point but he said, "I'll be back later for more, lover. I've got so much to show you. But I need to make sure I don't accidentally hurt you. We need to play it safe."

His hand trailed over the front of Mikey's still shivering body. He slid his fingers between Mikey's legs and Mikey made a soft whimper. Malcolm's fingers explored, then discovered the slip just at the bottom inverted 'v' of his plastron. He tugged at the sinewy skin that kept Michelangelo and his brothers' masculinity well hidden and protected. His fingertip pressed inside where it was warm, so warm. He felt the rounded, fleshy tip of Mikey's manhood where it was tucked away so neatly like a little present. He shivered with anticipation.

"You'll bring that out for me, next time. I can't wait to know you."

Then his fingers pulled away and trailed along the sticky, dripping underside of Mikey's trembling body. He smiled, but then the smile fell away as his fingertips found Mikey's tail. His face darkened. That dreadful chunk of flesh had gotten in his way for the last time. There was only one thing to do about it.

"It has to go," Malcolm muttered to himself. He considered what Mikey had said about it being sensitive. Malcolm shrugged. "Dogs get their tails bobbed every day," he said to Mikey's now unconscious form. He sat up and ticked off his to do list on his fingers. He needed to find out how much a mutant turtle could be drugged before they overdosed. He needed a pair of large scissors. He had to check in with Karai before too many days went by and the whore got suspicious of him again.

He glanced again at Michelangelo's tail. He wrinkled his nose in disgust. Maybe he would take care of that tail first. He wondered if the house had any scissors that would be able to cut through the thick appendage. He needed to clean up anyway. He'd take a shower and see if he could find a nice pair of strong scissors. He patted Mikey's leg.

"I'll be back soon," he said and started to hum happily as he crossed the room to the stairs.

* * *

**A/N**: *Packs bags and leaves town.*

Good side of me pleads, 'Don't kill me, sweet readers.'

Evil side of me sets cigarette down, cocks one brow, 'Was it good for you?'

(Oh boy, I'm dead just for that comment, aren't I? But after writing this intense chapter I need to breathe and even, dare I say it? LAUGH!)

Malcolm is mad with obsession and fiery desire. He believes it is well within his right to take what he will from his lover. He is completely convinced that he is not wrong in any way, believing to love means only to possess and indulge without the person's compliance or willingness, and that is perhaps where he is most evil. And where are his brothers? Searching desperately for clues as to his whereabouts, two of them are headed towards the same destination and a certain kunoichi is in for the confrontation of a lifetime.


End file.
